M1
by doesnotloveyou
Summary: A child mutant manages to escape the horrors of Alkali Lake. Her strange return and enrollment in Xavier's school begin a new chapter in her complex life. In everything, she questions what people are made of, and who the real humans are. (OC driven, minor Doctor Who reference)
1. Prologue

_Alkali Lake Industrial Complex, 1985_

I fell asleep waiting for them to come, they sounded like they were coming. I sleep very often, so I don't know how much time has passed. The air tastes the same all the time down here.

I open my eyes now, here, and it's so dark I think maybe my eyes are still closed. Everything smells like must and mildew, like fungus under a rotting tree branch, a nothing smell that catches in your nose and pawing at it won't make it go away, only smelling something better will get rid of it. I have nothing here to smell that's better. My skin still smelled good for a while, and my hair, but now all of me stinks of this place. I am this place, this is my place. I'm fungus underneath a log and I'll never see the sun again and I'll never feel the wind or watch the moon. This is my log. Only my spit still smells like me.

I fell asleep again, so maybe it's another day. Or maybe this is all one really long day. Yes, it's only been hours, they'll let me out soon and I'll apologize. I won't escape anymore, I'll stay, but I am not doing those other things you want me to do. I pick at the cuts in my legs. They've scabbed over. I've been here that long.

Wait, that's different, that's a different sound. That's the sound of someone coming! It's a different someone, no, it's the sound made when deer crash through the underbrush because they've been shot and hunters are chasing them. I scramble into the corner facing the door because they'll have to come in to get me and I'll have a chance to dodge them. I hide my knees because they'll try to hit me there first so running won't be an option. The large thing coming toward me will fill up the doorway and not let me out, and it's angry and scared because it's maybe been shot and is being chased and it won't stop to talk. It's found me though.

The door creeks and groans, looks me once more in the eye, and crashes open, handle broken in three places. Scent billows into the room. It's a man who staggers in, hits his foot on the door, and begins hitting it again and again and again. He's wearing the helmet. He roars at the dead, dead door that didn't put up a fight and holds his hands out at his sides. The light's on in the hallway and it shines off his metal claws. _They gave him claws?_ He smells like blood and heat, water and chemicals. He's too hot for here, he sweats and he shouldn't because it's freezing down here and in the light I can finally see my own breath. There's animal smell from him. There's man too, and he looks like a man, but smells like an animal and they gave him claws? Dogs act like humans and wear their markers and answer their calls and aren't animals. Maybe he's like that only the opposite? Maybe he's an animal with humans, so they gave him claws and put tags on him.

I think he's noticed me. He's trying to sniff me out, but the helmet is in the way. Those claws are deadly, look what they did to the door. He growls and stalks toward me. There's blood on his legs where he keeps nicking himself with the claws. He's scared and he's tired. Whatever's chasing him will catch him and take him away because of those claws. One time I helped the deer get the bullet out and she ran away and I saw her again later with a scar. Maybe it will work for him too. He has to be able to smell me first before I can help him.

I stand up and move carefully toward him. Maybe I shouldn't, maybe I should climb around him and run. I nudge his knees gently. He growls and backs up, raising one hand, but doesn't hit me. I give him time before I touch his knees again. He stands still for a moment, then kneels. That was too soon and I'm nervous now because he could still try to kill me. I take the helmet off slowly and safely, but I'm ready to run.

Once it's off the first thing he does is sniff as though that were the sense he missed most instead of seeing or hearing. He looks at me like he's not sure I'm a thing he can eat, but he might still try it.

The muscles and veins in his arms are abnormally tight and tense, probably due to his claws. Maybe they go back in like cats' do. I look at his eyes to hold him still while I feel his arm. He twitches and glares at me, but stays still. _Snikt!_ One set of muscle further up his arm makes the claws retract when you press on it. It's strange though, the claws go back in between his fingers, a place claws don't come from, so then he bleeds. I check, but there are no cuts on his hands, and no places for claws to naturally come through. I press on his other arm to make the claws go back in, but this time I feel for the cuts in case I missed them in the dull light, but then he stands up and backs away from me.

I remember I might need to run and I step out of my corner so I least have a chance of getting out the door before he does. He puts his hand in the light and winces as the claws come back out. Killer or not, I have to see how those work, have to see whether he's human or animal. He holds them for me to see, trembles like these claws scare him too, and I can see how they come through his skin in such a wrong way. I press on his arm, they retract, and the ripped skin folds back into place. This is amazing. Now that we're in the light I can see his legs too. There's blood where he cut himself numerous times, but no cuts. He isn't human, he's mutant, he's one of them!

I look at the cuts and purple spots on my legs and touch his hands again. All hand, all human, and my legs are cut up and his aren't and that's better, that's better than turning invisible, better than climbing on the walls, better than being animal, better than anything. I concentrate hard, stare at my knees, and clench my toes. _You_ will _do what he does, you_ will _heal_. And my skin obeys and I have fresh skin and smooth legs and no funny colors that look like mold and mildew on my runners' legs. I'm so excited I smile at him. The light glints off his tags and his brows lower and his eyes look at me like the deer did, afraid again, afraid of me. _Wolverine_.

Now they're coming. He becomes alert and tilts his head to hear and I do the same, hear the same footsteps and pumping lungs. He points to the crumpled door.

"Get underneath," and leaves the room swiftly.

There are too many of them coming, more than chased me before. I step out after him, squinting at the bare light bulbs. Thirty heartbeats are hiding around each corner at the ends of the hall, waiting. Sixty, now there's a fun number. He snaps at me to go back in the room, but I'm already walking and I'm not going back in that room ever again. Standing close to the wall, I turn my head around the corner and watch all the guns click and all the eyes look at me and grow wider.

"Don't even think about it you little freak," says the guard, "I can shoot your ugly face off now," he sneers, "we're allowed."

I smile back at him, "Do you want to see my snake trick?"

He's sweating already, "We don't have time for your retarded games, twerp. Move!"

I hear my friend walking up behind me. He's going to get caught. I show them my legs, "Look what _Wolverine_ taught me. Remember? Remember what the doctor did to my legs? It's all healed."

The guards are retreating quickly down the hall under the flickering lights and they pick up pace when my friend appears and pushes me behind him. I skip towards the other end of the hall, but I can hear them talking over their radios and they've already fallen back by the time I arrive. Those radios ruin the fun sometimes. Someone grabs me by the arm, so I sink my claws into them and hiss, then see who it is and immediately jump away.

"What was that?" he asks sternly. I hide my hands behind my back. He's not a real animal, he has _their_ claws, and he'll hate me too.

"Show me your hands," he orders. I obey and show him my normal hands. "Don't play games with me, you know what I mean." Getting ready to run again when I release _my_ claws. He doesn't look afraid, just looks closer. "Did you have those before you got here?" I nod and he nods, and my hands form back into their human look.

"Why don't you talk?" he asks. I raise an eyebrow. "Don't you know how?"

"I can talk just fine," I argue.

"Alright, alright, you can talk," he replies. "C'mon," he blows my hair out of my face and it tickles. "Let's get out of here."

I squeeze his hand and aim him the right way. He follows me.

They won't leave the vault door open for us. They'll be waiting until everyone's out, and then close it before we get there. He'll be locked down here with me until he's quiet and obedient too. Except the guard was going to shoot me, he _wanted_ to shoot me. Wolverine is stuck with those claws and they'll kill us both now.

The vault slams shut far away and all the lights go out. My heart sinks into my stomach and there's a knot in my throat. No, no I'm not staying in the dark, I'm not keeping this smell on me, I'm not fungus that you can shoot and bury. I find his hand and keep walking. I know this place best in the dark when there are only the soldiers' smells to follow. I'll find the door, and I will get out. We are two animals in a trap, but we aren't scared anymore, we're angry.

* * *

The air feels crisper and cleaner without the mask on. He takes a deep breath. A scrawny, nine year old girl is leading him through black hallways that taste like the tomb. Her hair is long and unkempt and her eyes seem huge in her slim face. In the cell she'd looked at him and the smallest flicker of a smile pressed onto her thin lips. Before it faded away he'd felt his anger peak.

They retrace the trail of destruction he's caused, looking around at all the empty cells strangely. By the time they make it back to the testing room he realizes he hasn't seen one locked door other than hers. He tries to smell out the direction the soldiers went in, but the halls are dank and they've already been down every one searching for him. He stands still to listen all the while she waits patiently.

After a few minutes, he hasn't heard a thing except dripping water and he feels he's going completely nuts. With a patient sigh she slips her hand into his and starts walking again, pulling him along behind her. She weaves in and out of corridors and through backrooms like she has a map of it imprinted in her mind. Finally, she comes to a vault door set awkwardly in the wall, an emergency light gleaming above it, and stops. She looks at him with round eyes. He raises an eyebrow in question, and she points one at the door in answer. He takes a deep breath. _Snikt_.

She speaks to him over her shoulder as she nimbly climbs over the slivered door, "There's a back exit here that no one watches."

The wall next to them is being scratched at from the other side. A moan emulates from somewhere. "You know about this door how?"

"I escaped a lot," her bare feet pad over the cold concrete, "The locks in this wing are substandard and the guards are never paying enough attention on their shifts."

Her speech is amusing, but he can't tell if she's insulting the management, or downgrading her own actions.

Moans and snarls come from nearly every cell they pass, and she ignores them. It's the silent ones that unnerve her. Whenever they come to one he can smell death behind the door, and it seems she can too. She gets anxious and waits for him to catch up before she moves on.

"Quit doing that," he growls after the third lifeless door. They're starting to unnerve him too.

"They all need to be helped," she says almost at a whisper.

_What they need is a bullet in the head_, he thinks. He nearly trips over her she's stopped so suddenly. She's completely silent, head cocked to one side. The entire block has gone strangely quiet. A very, very subtle click comes from the cell on their left. All of a sudden she takes off, her thin legs carrying her faster than he can keep up.

The whole cell block explodes in a fury of screams and shouts and above that, heavy footfalls and then the gunfire. The hallway she's running down is getting darker, narrower, steeper. He can't make her out anymore, but can only hear her feet slapping over the damp floor as she runs up through the blackness. The tunnel begins to echo with the sounds of soldiers and covers the sound of her. They're gaining on him and her scent is nearly gone. If she's still up ahead she's going to need time. He stops and turns to face the oncoming fray.

The entire tunnel fills with white light. He runs toward it, sees her slight figure outlined in the doorway, leaning all her weight against the massive thing to keep it open, sees the guards in the snow outside with their weapons trained on her. He shouts, "Get down!"

Someone fires and she drops to the ground with a tight yelp, hitting her head against the concrete threshold.

_ "No!"_

The gunfire comes in from both sides now. His anger swells up again in his chest, blood boiling hot in his head. They'll _all_ die. And they know it. They won't come near enough for him to hit them they just shoot and shoot praying that eventually he won't be able to keep standing.

He has one soldier down, one who'd come too close, and he's now too blinded by his rage to notice the girl any longer, so he kicks the man out of his way, his gun clattering toward the door. The soldiers at his fore begin to retreat and he lurches after them, but in the chaos notices a sound out of place. Turning he sees her lying in the doorway, a handgun in her shaking hand. The bright snow outside is littered with fallen soldiers. For a small moment they look at each other breathlessly until her gaze falters. The little companion becomes just as still as the bodies in the snow, her harsh breathing abated, and even with his enhanced hearing he can't detect her heart beat.

Dazed, he staggers out into the sunlight, squinting, so unused to it. His rage has left him a little out of his mind. All he knows is _freedom_. He's escaped once and they brought him back, but this will be the last time, they can't stop him now. Every memory of the facility vanishes as his only motive becomes _run_.

As he crashes into the forest, treading sunken branches, and putting as much distance as he can between him and hell, the door closes quietly behind him.

* * *

I trip back into the dark building. The man who heals is gone, he believed my dead trick, and left me one just as useful. My shirt and hands are sticky with blood, but the wound is all healed up. The bullet pushing its way out was one of the worst feelings I've ever had, but it pinged off the ground and my breath came back in a painful rush. But, I'm fine, and my heart is beating fast and heavy like I've been running a long race. Now I can do it, now I can win their game.

No one is paying any attention as I open more outward doors to let the fresh snow air in. More alarms go off, but I just laugh and tear down the hallways before they can get to me. I let everyone out, every full cell I can find, everyone who I know won't try to kill me, and I tell them where the exits are. But I don't think they were all listening.

The soldiers all come out at once and the dangerous subjects, the ones I left behind, hear the commotion and start banging on the doors, and my free people start opening their doors even though I yell at them to stop. I wasn't expecting that.

I also didn't anticipate how many monsters there were. Even the quiet people and the ones that talked to me became monsters. I'm lost in a crowd now. None of these people are my friends, the soldiers want to kill me, and I still can't see the sun. I've got myself in a bad hallway, away from any exits, and with a pack of desperate subjects behind me and scared soldiers in front of me when I realize I've made my own trap. Turning invisible I run between the oncoming soldiers before the shooting starts, jumping fast to avoid their big, heavy boots from stepping on my toes. They feel me push past them and shout, but then the uprising subjects arrive and they have to forget me.

Then I find all the hallways are like that and the stairs and lifts are like that, and people are running out the doors and into the vents, and over top of each other just to get out and some are going back into cells to hide. I can't do that, so I keep running around soldiers and climbing up walls like I always do. I didn't think this many of us were trapped here. One of the monsters is in the hallway now and the soldiers are screaming and swearing and I have to run into a closed room and hide before I can cover my ears. That's when I find the explosives.

I wait until the hallway outside my door is silent again. As soon as I look out I have to duck back into the room to throw up, and since there's nothing in me all it does is burn my throat and wrench my stomach. This was a monster from a nightmare. With my eyes half closed I tiptoe over to a soldier with a clean, not too ripped up coat and try to take it off. He's heavy, so I try harder. When it finally comes off, I hurry back to the room to fill the pockets with everything I can and find that this soldier had books of matches stashed away in his coat. I grab up all the dangerous things, but every little bit of wire and plastic, and every grenade is not enough. Not anything compared to the crates of beautiful fuses nestled inside them. I need those crates.

When I turn invisible some of the things I touch can turn invisible too if I concentrate hard enough. I start dragging crates down the halls, past seething people and quiet bodies, completely ignored and unnoticed unless somebody realizes lovely wooden crates are popping up in every hall this side of the testing wings. I don't even know what I'm going to do with them all. I find long wires and timers, and start to connect things up the way the instructions say.

I'm a floor down from the surface when the first one goes off. I fall on my hands and knees and bruise my chin on the linoleum. Everything rumbles. I get up and move faster, but only fall harder when the second one goes off. When the third goes off, doors in the first floor hallway swing open and crack their windows when they slam against the wall. I hear something fall in one of the rooms and a folder slides out and scatters its papers across the floor. I grab one and read _Subject Information_ at the top.

By the fifth, closest explosion the alarms have stopped altogether and I don't hear anymore screaming and very little shooting. The only thing that's different now is the smoke stretching lazily along the ceiling. My hallway is coated with folders which scattered hundreds and hundreds of papers, all information on every subject they've ever tested on and every test and every failure after failure, corpse after corpse, building monsters and burying people. I dig through all of them until I find ours; mine, and Wolverine's. When I leave the room with them tucked into the lining of the coat which I've ripped, I bite the clip of a grenade and throw it in. A pipe in the hall has burst leaving droplets of slick gasoline on every surface. Every sheet of paper in my path slips under me as I run and I just barely cover my ears in time for the boom of the grenade. It's small compared to the one set to occur right under my feet.

_ "You!"_

I look up and see a man at the end of the hall. _Him_.

I' m too tired to hiss, to run, to fight, _I just want to get out of here, I don't want to fight you! _He storms toward me, his hands in heavy fists, his eyes harder and hotter behind his crooked glasses than they've ever been and he isn't yelling at me like he usually does and that's what scares me the most I think. His fists aren't mad like mad, they are furious, they are hitting hands, they are killing hands and he's never tried that before, but I have a feeling he would be good at it.

I hate this man, I hate him, I'm scared of him, he makes me bite my tongue so hard it bleeds, it bleeds because I can't cry, because if I cry… I stuff my hands in my pockets so he can't burn my fingers. The smooth paper of the matchbooks rubs against my skin. What's it called when the thing you were running from saves you? I have the exit door behind me, but he's coming closer and the matches are taking too long to catch as I try to light them, but I've finally got five aflame and burning the folders at my feet before he gets too close. The paper roars.

The snow at first feels good on my burning skin, until I begin to wish I'd stolen the soldier's boots as well. His coat is heavy, falls past my knees, and is very much singed. There's room in one sleeve for both my arms and probably my legs as well. I smell like smoke and my hair smells worse. I pressed snow to my eye as soon as I left and the snow came back with a dark spot on it from where the sergeant hit me. I check again now, but it doesn't hurt and I can't feel a cut anywhere. _Thank you_, I think to the man with the claws.

The explosions continue behind me as I scrape and slide up the steep, white hill. The moon is half full and high up there, trying her best to light my way to the tree line. I know by the sound of each explosion how close they are getting to the main munitions room.

I make it to the first tree and lean behind her to catch my breath. I climb through the snow and bruise my feet on underlying rocks as I move from tree to tree until I make it to the top. Finally, I can lie down on my belly in the frozen needles without worrying I'll slide all the way back down. I want to stay in those needles, they're warm once my breath melts them and the coat is cozy, and warm. I close my eyes.

The fire has found the room. I scream and cover my head with the coat as everything suddenly flashes orange. There's a ringing sound in my head as I stumble back to my feet and try to run in the black forest. I bounce off trees and trip over branches in the snow, but keep going, deaf, blind, with numbed feet, keep going. I start to run across footprints going every way, haphazard and desperate, and then they're gone. Then I start seeing the lumps in the darkness, smell the dank hallways on them, smell the giving up and the collapse, see all the people who decided just to go to sleep in the pine needles and wait until morning. I'm terrified that death nearly tricked me again and run harder, letting my long legs carry me far away from this place. I can feel a breeze suddenly and rush into it, not knowing why, just running head on into this strange breeze in the middle of the night in a world of fire and ice. My face stings and my lungs feel tight and crystallized. The breeze stops but I can hear again and I can see a small light up ahead.

Everything is silent. The trees clear and I nearly run right into it. I rub my eyes and shake my head because I've seen too much tonight for this to be real and what if I'm actually still asleep in those pine needles? How do I wake up?

It's a shed or something, so I sniff it and jump back. That's…weird. I circle it completely, all four sides and it's all the same. Someone must be inside because the windows are warm like the lights are all on. There's a white sign on the front and I lean forward to read it when the door suddenly cracks open. I look around me. There's no one watching besides the billow of black smoke in the sky that's choking my moon.

My skin prickles as down the hill I can hear the hunt beginning. I look at the lit up words over the door that say _Police Box_, and for a minute I have an odd sensation of walking through those doors and suddenly being very far from here.

I step inside and lock the door.

**Please review! Also, I made a sketch of her running through the woods: image/54580266071**


	2. Chapter 2

The air is cleaner here. All this vast, empty sky, air smells like forest, not exhaust, nor people, nor fear. I don't know why I ever left when I could've just gone back to this.

Not sure where I first ran into the blue box, but it might've been at the top of that hill. It did take me away like I'd hoped, but for much, much longer than I'd expected. There was a madman inside whose memory is old and foxed around the edges, but I remember him as kind and lively with peculiar shoes. He lost me along the way, and I in turn decided I never knew where I was to begin with. I didn't want to come back and put it off as long as I could, but the day came when my time was up and I felt it would be better if I just went away somewhere no one could find me, again.

I approached this place with trepidation, unsure if I was still sought after, if they'd still be here and still want to kill me. I couldn't just run away like last time, this was a permanent, one-way ticket. I still haven't unraveled the convoluted ideas of time and space, but I assumed half a century had passed. As it is, not even a full quarter of a century has gone by. I might as well have waited another fifty years.

I look at the smooth skin of my hands and at my reflection in the calm mirror of the lake. I've really hardly aged at all. It was accepted in my old habitation that I was an anomaly, but here, this planet is a bit more innocent. They don't take things in stride like others might. Fitting that I should address that notion _here_ of all places.

The complex is still there, but it's completely abandoned now. I couldn't help but feel a little pride at my good work when I saw the burnt out remains of the top floor; the crumbling walls and bent girders covered in a fine layer of spring snow. I wasn't that good with the explosives, the top floor was a fluke as it was so close to the armory. It was the smoke and fire that did the real damage. Thinking of all the people still in there gave me a headache. It's been too long to feel remorse over this, and I'm back for a just reason now anyway.

The dam doesn't look like it can last much longer, its spillway cluttered and crammed with debris, and water level dangerously high. There's a fence around the majority of the facility, and it looks like private contractors may have come in at some point to make use of the place, but gave up when they saw the nightmare they'd have to deal with. I wonder if they even noticed the lowest levels.

Walking around the lake I calculate how cold it would be now, and how long someone would have to stand in it before hypothermia set in. Swim out to the middle, maybe not even that far, and one could just sink. Ironic that this is the perfect place to disappear, a place no one ever knew about, or cared about, or would ever dream of returning to even if they did. I don't think a solitary human in the world remembers this place.

I look at the water, so dark and inviting, like a long night's sleep. Then I look around me again, at the dense whorls in the clouds and the sharp pines reaching up to be desperately tangled in their mist. A small flock of geese babble as they pass over this lake, even they, heading for a brighter, healthier one. Birds always make me hungry to fly, hungry to see whatever it is they see from their viewpoint. Everything must look better from up there, and when you fly you must feel so alive.

I look at the water's surface again. It would be so much easier this way.

There's a heartbeat behind me, a scent, a person, a man. I'm cursing myself as I grind my heel into the frozen dirt and pivot to face him. He's just standing there, staring at me with a very disturbed expression. I hold my ground not to give him the upper hand, the chance to chase me. As he looks me over though, every muscle in my body screams that I should run. Why in the universe would someone else want to be here?

"Do I know you?" he asks. My legs tingle, itching to start moving away.

"I don't think so," I say, voice tight in my throat.

He cocks his head to one side, raises an eyebrow in a familiar way, then seems to change his mind. The cigar that's been smoldering away in his left hand goes back between his lips and he passes by me, giving me a wide berth so as not to scare me off. I keep an eye on him as he goes, inhaling deeply, to see if I recognize his smell, and am startled to realize he's doing the same. We snap a look at each other quickly.

"Well," he says gruffly, "I definitely know _you_."

I clench my jaw. I remember him now, but not that well. The feeling I get off him, he's comfortable, calm, despite his appearance. He takes a step towards me and I take a step back. He's confused and steps back again.

"Are you sure you know me?" The stern look in his eye, the veins in his hands, scruffy sideburns- wait, his hands. He catches me looking.

The sound of them even slices through the air. I take a quick look around in case anyone should see. I'm actually glad it's him. He sniffs.

"And yours?"

I ball up my hands, but can't keep the relief out of my eyes.

"Still shy about that, huh?" he asks, retracting his claws.

I smile this time, to put him at ease even though it doesn't seem necessary.

"You look almost exactly the same," he says suddenly, "How old are you?"

"How old are you?" I retort since he hasn't aged much either. He narrows his eyes and I narrow mine right back.

"You ever find your folks?"

I shake my head and take another step back.

"Where did you come from?"

"I don't know anything about them," I say.

He furrows his brows, "So they just…how long were you at the facility?"

"A year," I suck in my bottom lip, "Quit asking me things."

He leans his head back, snow clouds reflecting in his eyes, and takes a drag on the cigar, momentarily ignoring me. "You eaten?"

My stomach begs me to say no, and my mind is as unreliable as anything. I shake my head and glance at the dirt path. He looks me over again, like he's still not sure what he's getting into.

"C'mon," he jerks his head over his shoulder, "my treat."

* * *

"I never got your name," he's watching me curiously as I eat. We're in a diner by the highway. It smells like cleaning products and ketchup.

I try to eat less peculiarly as I nibble on my potatoes, having already polished off the burger and milkshake. I didn't think having something sweet and cold like that would taste so good with the greasy, salty food, but I'm not going to forget how wrong that was ever again, "Haven't really got one,"

"No kidding? What have people been calling you then?"

I shrug, "Whatever name I make up. None of them really stuck though,"

He raises an eyebrow and takes another drink. The alcohol smells good. Never really had alcohol. It makes people stupid, but not him. "So, you don't have a name. I'm going to need something to call you,"

"'Kid' is fine so far,"

"You just want to be called 'kid' all the time?"

"You come up with a better name then. I don't really care what you call me."

"I'm no good at coming up with names."

"Your name can't really be Wolverine," I point out.

He just glares at me, "Fine, I'm calling you smart-mouth from now on. Better?"

I hide my grin. He wipes up the last of the gravy on his plate with a scrap of bread then studies me for a long minute.

"Where've you been all this time?"

"None of your business."

"Listen kid, I thought you were dead. If you've been around this whole time-"

"I traveled," I forgot I left him on that note. Playing dead can be a bit misleading, "I got out of here,"

"Then why are you back?"

"I-" There's no clear, easy answer to that, nothing that won't alarm him, as if he isn't already. I can feel the hairs rising on the back of my neck. "I had no place left."

He softens, the lines in his face smooth out giving him a young look, "That's funny."

"What is?"

He does a strangely terrifying thing I've never seen on him before, he smiles, "I know a place."

* * *

I wait a few months before I follow him. I'm still not sure about this country, about him. I only came back here because I was finished, there was nothing left for me. He didn't put up much of a fuss when I said I was taking off again, other than, "You sure?"

"Yeah, I need to…think."

He'd raised an eyebrow at me, "Kid."

"Yeah?"

"I'm serious, when you're done thinking come by the mansion."

"Yeah."

"And feed yourself once in awhile, eh?" I nodded and he drove off.

* * *

It's perfect, four stories of fortress-like beauty, making the long walk up the drive worth it. It isn't bawdy, there's no shine or glimmer of new, modern architecture claiming to be better than its build. It's old grandeur, strong yet gentle with its smooth stone, blunt turrets, and coat of ivy like green armor. It's stood long enough to gain affability, but still allows nature to possess it. What kind of person would find a castle like this and decide to share it? The aspens and maples guarding the yards are strong and old as well. Small flower gardens dapple the grounds in bright, thriving clusters, the work of someone who doesn't truly understand the beauty of this place, someone with soft, positive hands to plant each pansy in the snug soil. They don't understand this kind of safety, but it's clearly dear to them. What must these people be like?

I'm not sure whether to knock or just walk in. It's a school pretending to be a private home, or a private home pretending to be a school. Either way it's discomforting and the intimidating front door doesn't help.

"Hey."

I look up from the gravel ground. I'd sat down on the bottom step to mull this over. Now there's a young, blonde man standing in the yard.

"Shouldn't you be inside?" he asks tilting his head forward and raising his eyebrows. Should I bother telling him I don't go to school here? It occurs to me I could just run away, but as the thought flits through my mind my whole being practically solidifies on that step. I need this place.

Bobby, the blonde man who looks closer to seventeen than any adult age, and who saw me from a gable window, walks me to a side door. It leads into a quiet little mudroom, one with a coat rack and bench for removing heavy boots.

"Does it snow here in winter?" I ask.

"Yeah, but it's never been so bad. At least not that I've seen."

We walk down a wood paneled hallway graced with Victorian end-tables and paper lamps, a mix just as appropriate as the outer appearance of this place. He walks over to a door I wouldn't have noticed right away and knocks before opening it and popping his head in. His voice is slightly muffled.

"Hey, we've got a new student."

I'm startled by how casually he says this as though it's every day he finds a strange teenager sitting on the front steps.

"Send her in," comes a woman's smooth voice. How does she know I'm a she?

He opens the door wide and nods at me to go in. His eyes are a cold and stiff blue, but they shine for me.

Dr. Grey is kind. Her eyes are the opposite of Bobby's, they're practically burning.

"It's nice to meet you…?"

Suffer introductions. I look around the room for a temporary name and see an insignia on a book jacket, "Ace."

"Ace," she doesn't seem to regard it as a strange name, so I can work with it for now, "So, you're a mutant?"

I must look startled.

"It's alright, we all are," she reassures, "You're not alone."

I notice the box of tissues on her desk and wonder how many lonely kids have stood here and needed them after being told something like that.

"No, I just forgot that's what I was. Am."

This answer seems to satisfy her. "Where are you from?"

That one is harder to summon than my name. I'm from so many places. When I request that she clarify, so I can construct a better lie, she asks,

"Well, where were you living before you came here?"

Another halt. I can't tell her _that_. I try to remember the name on my file at the facility, the name of the place I originated. Drawing a blank.

"I met a man," I blurt out, "who knew about this place, said he lived here and I should come look at it."

Her eyebrows pop, but she crosses her arms. She's onto me. "Oh, did he say his name?"

I move my mouth for the words, but my mind notices too late it's got nothing to give me.

"No," and it echoes silent defeat. _James_, says a voice like the kid in the seat behind me, feeding me the answer. _No, that's not it._

"You think you can describe him?" she's giving me a lifeline here, trying to help, I'm obviously absentminded, but there just aren't words for that. How to describe _him_? "He's…growly-"

"_Logan?_ Where did you meet- Did he- Are you from Canada?" she guesses.

We seem to be getting somewhere now. "Is Logan very…animal?"

She chokes on a laugh, "I'm sorry, um, yes, yes that sounds like him."

"He smells like cigar smoke."

"Yes."

"And he rarely ever smiles."

"He does, sometimes," she says with a smooth dip in her voice.

"Is he here?"

"Not at the moment, but he should be here around dinnertime, at six."

I glance at the clock on the wall. Four thirty. "Okay. What do I have to do in order to stay for dinner?"

She smiles and for a moment I forget that burning in her eyes, "You're free to stay as long as you like."

So, these are the people.

* * *

"You made it, eh?" rumbles a familiar voice. He returned an hour earlier than Dr. Grey thought he would, a six pack of beer tucked under his arm. We're standing in the main foyer, the one the large door leads to. Jean, as he calls Dr. Grey, has left him in charge of me while she talks to the headmaster.

"You been here long?" he asks, shifting the alcohol to his other arm. I shake my head and smile carefully. "You don't talk much do you?"

"That's what you asked me before."

"When?"

"At the-" I suck in my lip.

He cocks his head to one side, "Yeah. We need to talk about that."

That sounds like something I'll definitely be looking forward to.

"Ace, the Professor will see you now," announces Jean warmly, "he wants you there too," she orders Logan before strutting off again.

Logan raises his eyebrows at me, "Ace, huh?"

We follow Jean through more warm, wood paneled hallways, pausing for a minute to let Logan stash his beer in the staff kitchen. We pass students now and then, most of them seemingly normal, but some look almost entirely inhuman, bringing to home the notion that this is indeed a school for misfits. For a minute I think I'll fit in fine, but they all watch me as I walk by, conspicuous between two teachers on my way to the headmaster's office.

The Professor, as Jean calls him, smiles kindly at me from behind his desk, "It's nice to finally meet you, Ace." Before I can register confusion he adds a nod toward Logan, "Logan's mentioned you in past."

I give said person the eye and he gives it right back. The Professor moves his chair out from behind his desk.

"Well, how are you today, Ace? Nervous?" I smile and shake my head to return the politeness. "No, you don't look it," he agrees.

His crow's feet are a good sign, his office is organized and tasteful, and he could be a normal person even with his paralysis, but I get the feeling it's from trauma. Not something like a car accident or a disease, but maybe a war or a fight, though he doesn't seem like the kind. Nowadays I always assume an injury is from something like that. It'll wear off.

"Jean tells me you're from California?"

I finally remembered the name of the old place, the one named on my file, "I'm from there, but I haven't actually lived there in years."

"How'd you end up in Canada?" Logan asks suddenly.

"She hitchhiked," explains Jean, though I know that's not what he means, and I can tell by the way her face changes after she's said it that she knows it's not what he meant either. Thankfully, the subject is dropped.

"So," begins The Professor, "you _learn_ powers, is that correct?"

"Yes," I suppose Jean divulged the entirety of our conversation.

"Interesting, in what way?"

"It's isn't that I learn _powers_," he's intelligent, he runs this place, he must know a thing or two I don't, "I can learn anything just by studying how it works and copying it."

"When you copy a mutation is it permanent or temporary?"

"It depends, if I don't practice it I can lose a power completely sometimes. I've really only come across a handful of people with special talents, er, mutations?"

"Did you lose my healing ability?" Logan asks abruptly.

"Oh, yes. I forgot how you did it," I sense his momentary relief, followed by confusion as he gives me a scrutinizing look. I don't know why he'd feel relief, but suspicions always rise when I enter a room. I sink into my chair.

"We can talk about your ability later, Ace," says The Professor evenly, though he seems highly interested in the subject, "but for now, I'm going to need you to answer a few basic questions, your age, for example."

Logan will know I'm lying if I answer that and my credibility here will be shot in seconds. I glance at the clock. Forty-five minutes until dinner, I need to stall for at least forty-five minutes. I can do that, _can I do that_?

"That isn't really a question," and go!

"Well, I meant how old are you?"

"Does that matter?"

"It does if you're to be placed in any classes."

"Oh, that's right, this is a school."

"It is a school, but now considering your power I suppose I should assume you learn academics rather quickly as well?"

"Sure."

"What grade should you be in? You look like, oh, tenth?"

"Mhm, wait, how many grades are there again?"

"Twelve."

I turn back to the clock. Forty-four minutes. I'll be in here forever.

"Alright," the Professor sighs, "you're stalling, Ace. How old are you?"

I stare at him blankly. He narrows his eyes like he's trying to focus on a dot on my forehead- _Stop_. He's trying to get in my head and hear me. I hide everything, block him out and turn out all the lights. He blinks at me with hesitation,

"How are you doing that?"

Jean looks worried, "What is it?"

"Don't do that," I tell him.

"Where did you learn how to do that?" he leans forward in earnest, his voice serious and a little strained. I seal my lips. I'll hide it all up here and not say a word, and nobody has to know. He sits back a little, "I'm not going to try reading your mind again, I apologize for not warning you, but I need to know where you learned that. Have you always had it?"

"Wait, hold on," Logan puts out his hand to pause any interruptions, "what is it she's doing?"

Jean waits patiently for the answer, though she shifts her weight and looks as if she's trying to read the headmaster's mind herself. The Professor shakes his head as if he doesn't understand something. "She's blocking my telepathy. Jean?"

She compliantly walks over to me, "May I?"

I shake my head doubtfully.

"She won't be able to see anything either, Ace, I just want her to look."

I shake my head again.

"Kid, let 'er look," Logan growls.

I stare at him, trying to decipher this speedy betrayal.

"It's alright," Jean steps back, "I don't have to," and glances at Logan out of the corner of her eye. He catches it and something in the air around them changes. The Professor sighs,

"Never mind, it isn't important right now," he says. I tense up, that was a lie, it is important, he's worried, Jean's worried, and Logan doesn't know why and it's making him upset, "what is important is if anyone will be looking for y-"

"No. No one's looking. I'm by myself."

"You have no family or guardians-"

"She said she doesn't."

"I was asking _her_, Logan."

"And she told you, there's no one looking after her expects her back!"

"Yes,_ why_?"

Logan grits his teeth and looks at me because I see now that the same question has been in his head this whole time. I bite my cheek. _I don't have to be here_- I squeeze my eyes shut to get rid of that thought, _yes you do_, then groan inwardly as I realize that was an outward display and they all saw it and now The Professor will really want to know what's going on up here, "Why is it so mandatory that you know if someone misses me?"

"Because there are rules about lost children that we need to follow, even if you really are on your own."

"I _am_ really on my own, I have no parents, I have no family, and besides Logan no one living knows I exist."

I feel venom welling up in me as I speak, but it doesn't occur to me that it sounds in my voice. Tensions spike and the room becomes awkwardly still until the Professor clears his throat.

"_We_ know, Ace," and then, "Nobody else has to."

The other two adults look at him oddly, and even I am afraid he may have found a way to read my mind, but my walls are still up. "How-?"

He smiles softly, "You aren't the first person who's come here to hide."


	3. Chapter 3

Charles Xavier sits at the window in his study, elbows resting on his wheelchair, fingers pressed together as he concentrates on the problem at hand. Xavier isn't simply a mind reader his telepathy allows much more than that. Enhancing his ability by using a machine called Cerebro, Xavier can connect with any mind on the planet, and identify persons with the mutant gene. He's on constant lookout for the new mutants who come into the world every day. This is what's bothering him at the moment.

"I can't place her."

Jean gives him a grieved look from the couch, "I was afraid of that."

"Not even when she would have been latent," he continues to himself, "It's as though she just _happened_. I didn't even hear her coming towards the room."

"Neither did I, it was like there was an absence of thought entirely."

"Her mind registers as functioning, but on closer inspection…it's like…a void."

"What is that like? Like a vacuum?" Jean wonders how that can be learned.

"Yes, it felt like- You say you didn't hear her coming either, but tell me, did you hear her when she was _in_ the room?"

Jean thinks on it a little, "There was a bit of the normal static. If I'd had my eyes closed I would've known there was the extra person, but her interference was rather low. When Bobby left her in my office it felt the way it does when someone's standing further away, not right in front of me. You've really never seen her, has that happened before?"

"Not for a person's entire lifetime. She hasn't been anywhere on the face of the earth in all my years of using Cerebro."

Jean furrows her brows, "What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure, but it could simply be that that void has kept her hidden since birth, which would be incredible of course," a mutant's powers rarely manifest before puberty, "I meant to look for her after Logan first mentioned her to me, but…"

Jean nods in quiet understanding. The most recent incident at Alkali Lake nearly a year ago has left a jagged edge in everyone's mind. Xavier lowers his eyes,

"Well, then we'll find out eventually. I'm afraid I've scared her off though."

"Same here," Jean concurs, "When she entered my office she seemed ready for a fight." He raises an eyebrow, "Well seeing as who led her here."

Jean smiles quietly, "Hm, if only _he_ were easier to handle."

Xavier chuckles, "Logan is perfectly easy to handle, Jean," he turns his chair to face her, a teasing light in his eyes, "You're just looking at him from a particularly difficult angle."

Jean smirks, "Not likely."

* * *

At my request they assign me a small bedroom of my own on the third floor, instead of a general two bed dorm.

"You sure?" Logan asks, though we both know it's a useless question.

"I don't sleep well," I answer.

Jean stayed behind to talk with the Professor. Not only do they both have the ability to read my mind, but they're better at it than I ever hoped anybody could be.

Logan leaves briefly to get me some basic necessities. Other than what I'm wearing I've got one change of clothes. Everything looks so bedraggled and pathetic as I empty out the contents of my satchel onto the bed. Nothing fits me very well anymore, and I can't possibly wear any of it to class. I already took some placement tests in Xavier's office. They were confusing at first, but the math was simple and I understood most of what was being asked of me when it came to English. I told them I'm fourteen, and according to that testimony and the test results I'm apparently a sophomore. Since the school year started less than a month ago, they were able to fit me in easily. I look at my clothes and the papers that are my schedule and a map of the school. Jean jotted down my room number beside its location on the map, in case I get lost and can't find it. I found that funny.

As he returns and hands me my things, Logan sets a heavy, but gentle hand on my shoulder. "Hey, back there, I wasn't trying to turn you over to the psychics, alright? They aren't trying to get in your head all the time."

"Would you know what it felt like if they were?"

"Yeah, actually, I would, but I trust them," he sets the things down on the small dresser, "So, what exactly is it they were having such a riot about?"

"I didn't anticipate-" I shake my head with a grimace. There are some things that can't be explained, "They're very strong psychics. I would never have come had I known."

"You're not already leaving are you?" he asks, alerted.

I force a chuckle, "No, I'm not leaving. Not if _you_ want me to stay."

"I do," he sniffs, "We both know you need this place."

I quit being surprised by him knowing things before we even made it to the diner, "What was it?"

"Well, you were calmer than I've ever seen you," he replies begrudgingly, "Plus, you looked everything over twice, like it was something you wanted to remember for a long time and not just for emergencies."

I start laughing because that's exactly how I think and no one has ever understood it. His eyes crinkle, "Pretty sad to hear a description of yourself, eh?"

I shake my head and try to regain a bit of composure, but the smile won't leave my face. Then the tears come out of nowhere.

He puts a hand out reassuringly as I hurry to wipe them away.

"Hey," he says in a softer tone than usual, "you're going to be fine here. Don't worry about something dumb like crying."

I rub them off and force myself to cut it out, "You don't _really_ think I belong here?"

"Are you kidding? Kids like you are the reason this place exists."

There are no kids like me there _can't_ be. "You haven't aged a bit," I note, "but it's been years. Is it your healing ability, it keeps you young?"

He leans against the dresser and kind of sighs and nods at once,

"It does a lot of things." Then he raises an eyebrow at me, about to ask the obvious, but apparently decides against it. I settle onto the edge of the bed with relief. He stands up again, "Dinner's in a couple minutes, everybody's already down there. C'mon, I'll walk you down."

I tuck my hands between my knees, "Do you think I could skip it?"

"You're not skipping dinner, you hardly eat as it is,"

"That's not true, you've seen me eat, I eat. I'm just more tired than I am hungry, right now."

He sighs through his nose, sizing me up, "Fine, but I'm bringing you a snack and you're going to eat it."

"I eat!" but he ignores me as he leaves the room.

I shove all my old things into the bag, drop it into the bottom drawer of the dresser, and collapse onto the bed. It's comfortable, and clean, the same as the rest of the room. There's one window with a plain blue curtain and pull-down shade, and a neat little desk with a table lamp. It's still the middle of the day, but I've been walking for months so no amount of sunlight is going to keep me awake. My eyelids flutter and the ceiling becomes blurry. Tomorrow is my first day of class at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. I don't know how I got here, or what compelled me to come in the first place, but I hope it's for the best. Just as long as they don't try to fix me.

* * *

Computers; they sit stolidly in their rows, staring intently at the chair placed in front of them.

"We need to get you set up with the system before you can start," says Mr. Summers as he leads me to an unassigned set of monitors, "Here, Kitty will help you."

He waves over a smiling brown-haired girl in a bright T-shirt and goes to help another student.

Kitty holds her hand out, "Hi! You new to the school, or just the class?"

"Um, both," I shake her hand, "I'm Ace."

"Nice to meet you," she sits down, "That's your second name, right?"

"Sure."

"Awesome. So, what can you do?"

That's still a strange thing to be asked. "Several things," I answer vaguely. Then I think I sound too arrogant, "But, um, I just copied them."

"You're kidding?" she asks in shock, "That's crazy! I don't know anybody- well, other than Rogue I guess- that can copy. Are they long term, or short term like hers?"

It takes me a second to realize her meaning, "Um, long term, but I have to keep practicing them or they go away."

"Yeah, cool. Oh, finally it's loaded," she says grudgingly to the computer.

"Is your ability related to computers somehow?" I ask carefully. Is a power like that even possible?

"No, no," she laughs, "I'm just, I just like computers. We get along," she grins and absentmindedly tosses a brown lock over her shoulder.

"Well," I sense I'm going to be asked quite often what I can 'do' and I don't like the response so far from telling people I copy. Too much attention, "I can turn invisible."

"No kidding? We don't have anyone who can do that either. Or maybe we do," she raises her eyebrows intriguingly, "and I just don't know it cuz' I can't see them."

I give a round laugh, short and convincing. I'm so nervous I'm forgetting everything. "So, what can _you_ do?" I ask quickly.

"Oh! Yeah, I phase through things. See?" she drops her hand straight through the desktop and brings it back up again halfway so her fingers disappear inside the wood up to her knuckles, "Not too freaky is it?"

I choke back my excitement, "No, it's brilliant! Could you do that with your _whole _body? What about metal, or stone? Could you go through those?"

Kitty just laughs again, delighted, "Okay good, sometimes newbies are weirded out by other people's powers. You're all into it though aren't you?" I look back at the computer. She smiles, "Don't worry, this place is awesome."

Ms. Munroe, a woman with an interestingly chilly breeze about her, took me to the library last night and equipped me with the textbooks needed. As usual, as soon as night fell I couldn't fall asleep, so I read them cover to cover until breakfast where I finished the last one amid many stares. Thankfully, it was too early for anyone to feel ambitious enough to try and talk to me.

In this class it appears to be a presentation day, which Mr. Summers seems glad I arrived for. I suppose he thinks I'll get the idea of the class through everyone's finished work. I barely see or hear any of them, focusing instead on the image in my head of that inviting library packed with history books and encyclopedias.

Summers seems to notice my distraction, but briefly. Whatever I've missed in here will be covered by my rereading the chapter at lunch, and then devouring everything in the library on the subject. Alright, I can do this, everything _will_ be fine.

I glance out the window and catch the daytime moon staring at me. I look away quickly.

* * *

It's the third day since the girl arrived and the end of the school week. The principal staff of the school; Jean Grey, her fiancé Scott Summers, Logan, Ororo "Storm" Munroe, and of course the headmaster himself are seated on the couches in Charles Xavier's study discussing everyday needs and happenings. Foremost in the conversation is the conundrum of Ace.

"She doesn't want anyone knowing she lives here," explains Xavier, "and while she is telling the truth that no one is looking for her, that's only as far as she knows. It may be that extended relatives or legal parties are involved in search of her and she is simply unaware. We shouldn't advertise her presence, for her sake, but it would be best to look into it."

Logan shakes his head in frustration, "No, believe me there aren't. If anyone had really been trying they would have found her a long time ago. It's been near a year since I ran into her living on her own, and she'd been on her own for a while before that."

Xavier notices something in what he's said, but doesn't remark upon it. Logan takes a breather before reigniting his argument.

"Why is this a big deal? We have tons of kids whose parents practically abandoned them on our doorstep, kids who are hiding from their folks for any number of reasons, and we don't harass them about where they came from. Why is _she_ such an issue?"

"Logan, she won't even give us her real name," answers Jean, "or her age. All we know for sure is that she says she's from California."

Logan looks at her, "Is she?"

"Yes," Jean rubs her eyes, "she's telling the truth about that, but she couldn't remember the name when I first asked her."

"Logan," sighs Xavier, "The main issue is that in all my years of working with Cerebro, I never sensed her even once; not in California, or Canada, or anywhere. I never knew she existed until you told me about her and still I never perceived of her until she walked through that door. Yes, many children come here alone, but even without notice _I_ know they're on their way. This girl, as far as Cerebro is concerned, has never existed."

The room is quiet as this eeriness settles over them.

"That's crazy," breaks Logan, trying to work something out in his head. How could she have been invisible for that long? And the nagging question 'why does she only look five years older,' might drive him nuts. For a moment in the woods he thought she was an illusion, something he'd dreamed up. Even afterward he had the disturbing feeling that she wasn't real until the other X-Men saw her too.

"You said she kept you out," Scott comments from his position against the fireplace, "blocked your telepathy in some way?"

"Yes, I've thought about that," Xavier rubs his chin, "and it might be the cause. Jean brought up a reassuring point, that if Cerebro couldn't pick her up then perhaps my actions at Alkali didn't affect her."

He manages to avoid the twinge of pain from showing in his voice, but feels it shared throughout every person in the room nonetheless. It was an experience they'll never forget and he'll never live down.

"Look, don't bother her about it, alright? Any of it," Logan forms a tent with his hands and briefly covers his face, "She's closed off in more ways than one and I'm pretty sure I know why. Whatever her issue is with telepaths, I think prying into it will just turn her off. I'm trying to talk to her and see if she won't open up a little."

Scott looks dubious, but Xavier nods, "Yes, please do, she listens to you it seems."

"How did you meet her again?" asks Scott, ignoring Logan's disdainful glare.

"It's a long story and I'm not discussing it right now."

"Someone's hurt her," guesses Storm, "or…"

"Look, it's a long story!" Logan gets up quickly, "I don't know all of it yet, and I really don't think she wants everyone knowing. We'll discuss it later," he states gruffly before stalking out of the room.

Jean and Xavier share a look as the other two try to decipher what they know.

"I think it's best we let well enough alone, in her regard, for now," says Xavier, ending the discussion.

* * *

The moon watches me in the day and in the night. She waits for me to come outside so she can give me that sad sigh of hers. _It's been months_, I tell her, _now stop looking at me like that._

Logan keeps trying to talk to me. I know why of course. It's easier to see sincerity with him, and maybe that's just because of his primal traits, but I swear it's harder to tell in average humans. He talks and listens and the best is when we can just sit quietly on a bench by the soccer field while the moon broods on the other side of the mansion.

"So, this one should be simple. How old are you really?"

"What," I deadpan, "I don't look fourteen to you?"

"No, you know what I mean, don't screw around. I've kept all that stuff quiet about you, but I'd like it if you'd at least clue me in."

"I'm old, Logan."

He huffs, "You smell it."

I smile, "As old as _you_ smell?"

"How old do I smell?"

"Older than dirt,"

He finds that funny for some reason, "I probably am."

"You don't know how old you are?"

"No idea. Honestly, my memories stop right before I met you. Not even a week before."

I wish I'd known that sooner. I take a deep breath of air and caress it with an involuntary yawn. Logan knows I don't sleep, and assumes it's the same reason I jump at sudden things and tense up when people enter a room. I don't have any better explanation for it, so whatever he assumes is probably right,

"I don't know how old I am either, I lost count."

"How old were you when I met you?"

I blink, "Nine?"

"It's been at least twenty years, so that doesn't explain why you still look-"

"I don't know, okay? I told you I didn't know. It doesn't make sense to me either," he's giving me a stern eye, "honestly!"

"'I don't know', that's the best you can give me? Ace-"

"That's the best I can say right now. I'll figure it all out on my own, alright?" I want to say _nothing makes sense_, but the less I say in any conversation the better.

Disgruntled, he sits back with an annoyed sigh, "Sorry I asked."

I wish he'd _stop_ asking, "You want to talk about the facility. Unfortunately for you I hardly remember any of that either."

"You remember me though,"

"Yeah, I remember you. Logan." If he's allowed to forget than so am I. I can learn how to forget, find a way to rub something out. There are things to be locked away, things to be crowded out, and things to be trod over until sun and rain and walking wear them off. I have a handful of decades to forget about and if there's no one to show me how, I'll just have to figure it out myself. I sigh and pull my feet up to my chest, "I don't want to talk about anything that happened before now, alright?"

"Wait, did something bad happen to you five months ago?"

"Well, I ran into you again," I scowl.

"No, after that, _bub_,"

"Why five months ago?"

"Nothing happened?"

"_Should_ something have happened?"

"This is something you would've remembered. Where were you?"

"Logan, I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're serious?" he gives me a harsh glare.

"What are you going on about, what happened?"

"Five months ago something happened to _everybody_. If it didn't happen to you it must've happened to the people around you."

"I was walking, like when I met you, so I didn't really see anybody."

He laughs roughly, "Ace, you've got to be kidding me. So you didn't feel it, and you didn't see it happen to anyone, you didn't even hear it on the news?"

"Haven't been anywhere near a media outlet since we went to that diner-"

"Jesus-!" he groans into his hands, "Ace, you are- the entire species nearly died, and you're probably the only one who missed it."

I just stare at him, "No really, what happened?"

He shakes his head in the way that says this is something he genuinely doesn't want to deal with right now, "Just don't mention it, alright? How's school?"

"Average,"

"Good. Make any friends?"

"In two days? No."

"Good, kids stink," he's fiddling with a cigar which he won't smoke because there are stinking kids around.

I get up, "Okay, I'm going in now."

"You got homework? Summers likes to pile it on doesn't he?"

"Nah, he's easy."

Logan raises an eyebrow at me, then chuckles and waves his hand, "Get out of here already."

I turn on my heel and walk off towards the library. It's a warm day out and everyone would rather be sitting on benches and steps than indoors, so I should have it mostly to myself. I trot over the stone paths, keeping an eye on the kids around me, making sure they aren't watching as I phase the tips of my fingers through the different objects I pass.

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	4. Chapter 4

Even from what little I knew of him I couldn't see a convincing reason for Logan to want to stay someplace like this. At first.

He's leaning against the wall across from Dr. Grey's classroom, flicking his gaze over in my direction every now and then as though he expects to actually see me. "Don't you have a class you should be in?"

I reappear, "Don't you?" He smirks and continues to stare longingly at the door. "I'm sure she'll let you in if you knock first."

"Turn invisible again."

I know he can hear me coming as I sneak up on him, no matter how quietly I step my heartbeat is just too loud. I do have an advantage though.

He jumps and swears when I touch him and the hairs on his hand turns frosty. "Brat, quit laughing!"

I really can't laugh and concentrate on being invisible at the same time. The bell rings and the classroom bursts through the door. A few of the students smirk and look away quickly when they see Logan waiting, knowing full well why he's there. Logan pinches me, "Go find something to do."

"Like distract Summers?"

He looks at me funny, then looks at the door, then looks back at me and winks before sauntering into the classroom.

"I hear you're picking up a few things from the other students." Professor Xavier teaches my English class. Towards the end he asked if I would stay after to talk. He projected the request directly to my mind instead of saying it out loud, which I found both relieving and unsettling at the same time.

"Yes, Kitty taught me how to type."

"And Bobby's taught you new ways of tormenting Logan," he chuckles, "So, how are you getting along?"

I shrug, "Did Logan tell you the ice thing?"

"No, Jean did."

"You two are close?"

"Quite. She and Scott Summers were among my first students."

"So they grew up, with you?"

He nods, "They arrived here when they were about your age too, however they weren't as confident in their abilities as you are."

"I'm not confident."

"Well you do a very good job of hiding it by picking up more talent with such ease."

"Why does Sco- Mr. Summers, always wear those dark glasses? He's not blind…is he?"

"I think that's something you should ask him."

I think back to my math teacher's aggravation at my incessant questioning. "I did. He said he just has to and that was all."

The Professor knows when I'm stalling, but doesn't get annoyed like Scott does. He narrows his eyes to see what I'm thinking out of habit, and then catches himself and stops. That's about how long it takes for him to hit the blockade anyway.

"Ace, you aren't planning on copying _every_ power you come across, are you?"

"No."

"Be careful whose you do, not all powers are easy to control. There are some things you can't give back and some that will take on a life of their own without your consent,"

"I know what I'm doing."

"Yes, that means you won't try to be careful, but you should be. This can be a serious matter. You have a rare and tremendous gift, Ace. However, it's useless if you don't use it for the right reasons,"

"Copying is not a gift, it's a cheat."

"Is that what you believe?" he pauses for me to mull over that, "There are incredibly few mutants capable of collecting other abilities, but even fewer are capable of holding onto them for very long."

"I'm glad you find me so fascinating," I grit my teeth, "I know what I'm doing. I've survived this long with my deficiencies, I've been through a lot, and I can handle it on my own. I just need a stable place to do it," I flit my eyes over him. He's of one mind. He can't possibly know what to do with my answers, he can't possibly help,"A place where I won't be asked unnecessary questions."

"And what is it you need to do?"

"It's not important to you. I just want to be allowed to _be_."

The tone of his heartbeat changes, "Of course you do. Go on, find someplace to be."

"Can I be…in the library?"

"Anywhere you're at peace, Ace, go ahead. Just remember what I said about copying."

"Sure…thank you." I don't think I've offended him, but he's a harder read than most. He didn't _feel _angry, nothing in his body language denoted anger. But his heart, it sounded odd, probably regretful for bringing me into this place.

_ There are very few mutants like you._

More proof that I can't fit in even here.

* * *

Scott steps into Xavier's office, a dour expression on his face. "She was in the Danger Room today."

"Yes, I sent her to observe one of Storm's sessions," replies the professor.

"She observed mine. We were doing advanced tactical."

"I see. She was puzzled by your glasses and I told her to ask you."

"Well she knows now."

"I'll have a word with her."

Scott shifts his weight from one leg to the other, frustrated, "I asked her what she was doing there and you know what she did? She started correcting our maneuvers!"

"Well, that's interesting. Would her ideas have worked?"

"That's not the point. She saw everyone's abilities saw what they could be used for in an offense situation-"

"-and knew how to put them to better use."

"Professor!"

"I'm sorry, Scott," he smiles apologetically, "It appears she is capable of picking up innate skill and intelligence as well as mutation. She's just learning from you."

"Yes, but it's not just me she's learning from is it? After the session, she walked up to Peter and got him to show her his power then they started talking in Russian. But it wasn't like she'd known it all along it just seemed to happen on the spot!"

"So she might be a linguist as well?"

"She's-" Scott sighs, "I'm glad you're talking to her because there's a wall around her when she's in class. She ignores me, knows all the material, she's too closed off, and what with the power-grabbing she seems to be doing she's going to be uncontrollable in a matter of days. I know I'm not one to talk, but she's dangerous."

"She's only a danger if she chooses to be," replies Xavier evenly, "and I don't think she's likely to."

"Professor, she's been here a total of four weeks and you act like you've known her, her whole life. No disrespect, but you really _don't_ know her."

"Scott, I don't think she really knows herself. There is a very lost person in there trying to salvage what she can in order to become the person she's going to be. She's a teenager, that's her job."

"You're right," Scott concedes, "I agree with you, but this habit of copying the other students is going to get her into trouble, and then she will try to fight back," he furrows his brows and lowers his voice, "And then we'll have another Allerdyce. I'm keeping an eye on her."

"She's aware that you are and with her personality it can only make her hostile. Leave her to me, Scott, I'll handle it. There's a clear respect for adults in her demeanor, but your behavior towards her is disparaging. She doesn't trust you any more than you trust her."

"I haven't seen anyone she trusts yet. She needs someone she can look up to."

"And you think it should be you? Or do you think it _shouldn't_ be Logan?"

Scott sets his teeth, "There's something he's not telling us about her."

Xavier gives him a stern look and raises his eyebrows, "Be aware of her, Scott, but let her be. It's one of the only things she's asked for since she came here."

* * *

I slept last night. It was wonderful. I didn't dream, I didn't wake up once, and I got seven and a half hours in. I hadn't planned on it, I hadn't planned on it at all I just fell asleep. I've only seen Logan once today, but he noticed the difference and winked at me. Good, we both knew I could win this. It's over now I can get sleep. I feel lighter today, food tastes better, people are less annoying, and class is only half as boring as it has been.

It's been four nights without a problem. I'm usually asleep before Lights Out and wake up promptly before breakfast. Not a single dream, not a nightmare, nothing. I better be over it, this better be the beginning of something peaceful and easy, so I can start anew. It is, I'm starting over. Today I ate lunch with a small group of girls who weren't overly cheery and didn't ask too many questions. Their small talk was mostly about boys though, and one offered me make-up advice, so I probably won't join them again. Still, on any previous day eating with them would've been an ordeal to avoid. It was nice to look like I belonged though.

* * *

"She's not the same person I knew," says Logan, "She was just a kid then, a smart one, but still just a kid. Now it's, it's like she's been a full-grown adult for years. She doesn't want to be with other kids, she speaks like an adult, acts like one, but she _is_ still just a kid….isn't she?"

Xavier shakes his head, "Not in the way we'd like to think. Not for a long time I'm afraid."

"She breaks it sometimes. Sometimes she smiles or cries and I can see her again," rhetorically he asks, "What happened to her?"

"Whatever it was, it caused her to grow up mentally, but not physically. Jean's examination revealed all the physical signs of a healthy adolescent, no stunted growth of any kind; startling, yes. When she 'breaks' as you call it, that shows that her emotions and natural reactions to things are buried, perhaps by necessity, perhaps by conditioning. But they are intact, and she has some of the most important developmental years right ahead of her. That's how you can help her, Logan."

"And how do I do that?"

"Encourage her to make friends her own age, to do things other teens enjoy. From what I've surmised she's been under pressures too strong even for an adult. I think a little recreation and relief is what she needs most."

"You're looking at the wrong person, prof,"

"Oh am I?" goads Xavier with a playful smile in his eyes, "She trusts you, Logan."

"I'm just allowed to get the closest," Logan sighs through his nose, "but I wouldn't say she trusts me."

"I take it the talking isn't going well."

Logan raises his eyebrows, "She's not letting anyone in, that kid. I'm worried about her, but at least she's not afraid of me."

"Well, that's a start. I think she'll push through it," Xavier says reassuringly, "we can't expect to her to open up all at once. I'll help in any way I can, but you continue to do what you think best and she'll begin to improve. I guarantee it."

* * *

"You don't actually believe all that optimistic junk he's saying do you?"

Logan skips a faint-hearted pebble across the pond, "No, not really."

"Yeah, neither can I," mine skips further.

"Doesn't mean there's no merit to it,"

Found a nice flat one, "Yes, but people like that trust too easily, and then other people get hurt," it sinks, "Even if they had good intentions, in the end those don't justify anything."

"Look, just because he's optimistic…I mean, you need that. From what you're saying, you're like me. You've been pushed farther than you should, you've been lied to," he's given up on the stone skipping and sits down on a bench, "But you can't just stay in the dark, you need light now and then to keep yourself from going insane." He raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement as I garner four skips in a row, "Tell me, who let you down? Was it me?"

"No. Don't worry about it."

"It's not going to just go away,"

"Things have gone away before. It'll happen."

"_I'm_ not going to go away,"

"I believe you," a cool wind rises, "She's optimistic. That's not why you love her is it?"

"Jean? Not exactly that, but she's happy."

"And when she isn't?" I kick pebbles around in the gravel, "Love's the same thing as trusting too much. When things go wrong you end up hurting more people than just yourself. If she needs you to, you'll leave." I pick up the roundest stone I can and throw it as far over the water as possible. It lands on the opposite bank. "You won't know it, but that's what you'll be doing. Something will happen to or about her, and you'll abandon everything and it will just be her."

He doesn't contest me, but he's dying to and it's burning him up that he can't utter anything besides a few offended grunts.

"Where'd you find out so much about love?" he asks.

Empathy I regret, but it's possibly the most useful ability I've ever copied. I ignore him and throw another rock, a bigger one, out into the middle of the water. It splashes loudly and makes a hollow noise as the water sucks it under.

It's going to rain tonight. It's been overcast for three days and I know tonight is the night. I considered begging Ms. Munroe, a weathercaster dubbed 'Storm', to "cancel" it, but I can't have her do that every time it rains.

I sit up in bed, in the dark, listening. It's midnight and the rain hasn't come yet, but the wind's stirring like it should. This isn't fair. I love that sound, I love the wind tumbling roughly over everything in its path as it drags the darkest clouds along behind it. I won't fall asleep. I'll sit up and listen to the rain hitting my window and by morning I'll be getting ready for class before everyone else because I'll be the only one awake.

* * *

_I'm running as fast as I can, but it's no good. The halls are more mazelike and narrow than I've ever noticed before and the carpets are thick and slowing me down. Thunder rolls thickly overhead, and rain strikes the walls as though it's trying to get in. I know he's still back there, possibly gaining on me, but I can't afford to look. In the unfairness of everything the hall comes to a dead end. I stop still and turn around quickly just as his hand reaches out to grab me. He starts shaking me, almost in slow motion, but I'm paralyzed and unable to fight back, unable to get away, unable to curl up and weep. _

_"Ace!" _

_ I feel a sharp pinch on my arm making me scream and lash out hitting solid flesh. He doesn't even notice, but he grabs my wrist, _

"Snap out of it!"

I wake up with a jolt, crushed into a corner of a second floor hallway. Logan's crouched in front of me, holding my wrists in his hands. I don't know how I got here. Dr. Grey and Mr. Summers are standing behind him a few feet away, watching anxiously. I can hear some of the kids turning restlessly, a few straining to listen from their beds. The rain patters pleasantly against the windows as somewhere the clock strikes three.

"I'm a freak show here too," my voice sounds small, and disappointed.

Logan just closes his eyes with possible relief, "You're not a freak," before lifting me up onto my feet. Summers stands back, but Dr. Grey watches me carefully, a concerned look in her eye. I keep my eyes down and quickly put up my blockade.

This night repeats itself again and again in its old, agonizing routine; rain or no rain. I try to stay awake, but the next thing I know I'm hiding in a corner far from my room, every muscle tense and my heart beating like I've just run a race. I feel stupid always when Logan has to practically wrestle me before I'll wake up. Students whose rooms I've passed in the night try their best to ignore me in the daytime, but in the hall there's lots of whispering and pointing. They all watch me with their eyes and exchange looks with little pinched mouths as the hairs bristle on the back of my neck.

Occasionally, I do still manage to stay awake. I take the opportunity to practice my various "borrowed" talents. Kitty's is fun but incredibly disturbing. Piotr's armor is tricky and I honestly don't think I'll ever get the hang of it. Bobby's ability to create ice seemed too simple, a little matter of lowering the temperature of airborne water molecules, but then he showed me how to make a whole snowball and that _was_ impressive. However, when I practice this the room gets chilly and a layer of hoarfrost hugs the bedcovers. There must be a trick he isn't telling me.

My own abilities I've long since grown tired of, but I've tried and failed to get rid of them. I suppose it's like the professor said, I've practiced them for too long that they're now engrained in my DNA for good.

I wake up in my bed this morning and think it's a blessing I've made it through the night without leav- there's a bit of blood under my fingernails. I get nauseated and look myself over, but it's not from me, which in turn ties my stomach in knots.

I can't leave the room, I can't tell whose blood it was, and I don't want to run into them. What if they've locked my door? They should if they're smart. What_ else_ have I done? Somebody knocks gently and I scramble back into bed and pull the covers up to my ears. The door opens.

"It's just me," Logan's voice is low and soft, "you didn't hurt anybody, just scratched me up a little, but I'll live."

"I can't stay here."

"Sure you can," he steps into the room and closes the door carefully, "Charlie thinks you'll find a way to fight through it."

"He thinks it's something I'll grow out of," I despise him sometimes, the _professor_, "I can't tell him it's not. I know it's not."

"Hey," Logan's doing his best to be consoling, but I don't believe him, "You're not the only person here who has problems. Some kids have more dangerous nightmares than you, darlin', and I mean that, they ain't pretty."

"I don't hear _them_ at night."

"Because they fought through it," he's opening a dresser drawer, "and they let people help them." A pair of hand-me-down jeans flops onto the bed. "C'mon, you're going to make it through the day. Now get dressed."

Logan leaves the room and immediately barks at the bystanders. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and dig my nails into my hands. _I don't _want_ to leave this place!_ I look quickly out the window, see the crescent moon peeping behind an aspen, and jerk the curtains closed. _I can't run forever!_

* * *

Gym is the worst.

"Hey, crazy girl, thanks for waking me up last night," the short one forcefully throws the basketball in my direction. I catch it, _don't get angry_.

"You're welcome," I throw it back.

"Hey," he dribbles the ball, "I'm serious, that what get you kicked out of your last house? You scream all night and wake everybody up?" I bite my tongue as hard as I can_._ He throws the ball at me again, "Hey, Crazy Girl I'm talkin-"

I hit it back right in his stomach. He groans and bends over and there's a collective sucking in of breath as everyone gets ready for the fight.

"You gonna fight a _girl_, Brad?" challenges one of his cohorts, "She is _crazy_ you know."

"Look out, she might steal your power!"

"Ha, yeah, she might try to eat you too, remember, she's got claws."

I glare at the last kid, "What are you talking about?"

He just looks at me scornfully, "Your claws? You scratched up Logan last night when he tried to calm you down and you hissed like a cat."

Basketball boy gets back up and glowers at me. The other kids are waiting, laughing in their eyes, excited for something inevitable. Fine, this can be exciting.

It feels like no time at all until Logan forcibly removes me from my seat on the kid's chest. He's a pathetic fighter and that tells me everything I need to know, that this wasn't a real fight, and I've won by default. I wiggle out of Logan's grasp and kick the insolent jerk which saw my claws. I mean to punch him too, but Logan's got me around the middle and by one arm and dragging me off again.

"If you'd let me stay I could've finished it properly," I explain to a pacing Mr. Summers, "Now they're just injured and angry and it'll start all over again-"

"No," he snaps, "you're not going anywhere near those kids again."

"Scott, quit yellin' at her, it ain't gonna work," grumbles Logan. Then to me, "what started the fight?" I shrug. He gives me a knowing look, "Don't do it again."

Summers isn't satisfied with this I can tell, "You have a warning."

Logan's still looking at me with a crooked smile.

* * *

Logan is in a drinking mood. He plucks two bottles of beer and a soda from the fridge, and settles down on one side of the bar across from me.

"So, the sleepwalking?" he guesses.

"I'm allowed on that score aren't I?"

"You're not allowed ever," he pops the cap off the soda, making my nerves jump, and hands it to me, "but I'll make an allowance this time. So, can we talk about all that now?" he asks, "The nightmares, the sleepwalking, the kicking Logan in the gut when he's trying to get you back in bed?"

I snigger and take a drink, "Sorry. I have unfortunate reflexes."

"Mhm, so? Cut to the chase."

I shrug, "Nightmares are nightmares, and I can't always remember them in the morning."

"Ah, we need to talk to someone about _your_ memory loss. Quit jerkin' me around and tell me what they're about."

"They're just, they're like, um, memories," I can't say too much, even to Logan. I don't want him becoming too interested in me or my history.

"What kind of memories? When I try to stop you, you fight like you're being attacked."

"Well…I can't remember those dreams." I glare at a student who peeks into the kitchen briefly before walking off again. "Hey, do I ever…talk when I sleepwalk? Do I say anything?"

"Yeah, you yell."

"I _yell_?" great, now the whole school knows what my dreams are about, "What do I yell?"

"Orders," Logan takes a drink, "you order people around until I get in your way, then you start begging me to leave you alone."

"That's weird," I eye that beer. "What do I order?"

"Sometimes I can't tell what you're saying, you're just yelling, but you sound like you're shouting 'stop' and 'get back' a lot," he lowers the bottle, "Hey."

I look up, and his face is so worried I realize my expression _is_ a cause for concern. I straighten it out quickly, "Yeah?"

"When I come to you, you always look like you're in pain, like something is eating you from the inside out. Do you feel any aches or pains in the morning?"

"None that I can think of," I draw a line in the condensation on the bottle, "Are you going to be in the Danger Room today?"

"Yeah, I've got a class at four."

"Can I watch?"

He looks me over, "Not just yet. Heard you were watching Summers' session earlier. You were correcting his strategies?"

"I was just doing it to annoy him," I rest my chin on my hands, "So, when can I have a beer?"

"When it's socially acceptable for me to give you one,"

"Yeah right, gimme a beer."

He arches an eyebrow and gives a half smile, "You're gonna be a dangerous one."

* * *

_The old voices echo in my head. My heart jerks in my chest as a wave of anxiety sweeps over me. I can turn in a circle, but can't move from this spot. My voice catches in my throat, there's no weapon on me, and my legs refuse to move. The drapes are aflame, the floor scarred and littered with bits of cloth. My lungs fill with smoke, and the building begins falling around me, great billows of dust blackening the air until all is obscured._

Startled, I jump and open my eyes. Logan's sitting up in bed watching me with a slightly surprised look on his face. "What're you doing here?"

We can see each other just fine despite the dark. I'm curled up in the armchair in his room, not sure how I got here, but I'm afraid I used Kitty's power to do it.

"I don't…" I groan and cover my face in my hands, letting my legs come loose from underneath me to hit the ground, "I don't know, I'm sorry."

"Hey, just stay here, alright?"

"I woke you up."

"I wasn't really sleeping," he confesses, "I was waiting for you to start sleepwalking again. If you're in _here_ I can at least keep an eye on you."

"What makes you think I'll stay?"

"Just a hunch."

"Is it a Professor hunch?"

He nods honestly, blinking heavy eyelids, "Something about your subconscious feeling safer," he leans toward the end of the bed, grabs a folded blanket and tosses it to me, "Prove 'im right, don't wake me up."

I snuggle into the chair, tucking the edges of the heavy blanket around me. I'm afraid to fall back asleep, nervous because he remains awake, waiting for me to get up and cause problems. I do take reassurance from the fact that he's close by to wake me in case I do.

"Go to sleep, Ace," he orders sternly.

I readjust myself in the chair and try to relax. The blanket it warm, the cushions are soft, and Logan's only a few feet away. Sleep steals over me…

* * *

Before sunrise, she's still there sleeping peacefully. Logan dresses quietly in the few minutes before she needs to be up. He recalls a similar girl decades ago. A fading memory, nearly gone, but her face the first time she looked up at him and smiled fades slower than the rest. It's the same face he saw by the edge of the lake, same timid smile.

There was something feral in the littler version, and something lethal in the older. He could smell it on her as she could on him, which is why they both stood back to scrutinize the other. Years change so many things, he knew. If everything in him had changed since that day, what on earth could've happened in her life? It was one thing to be a capable, full-grown man in territory he was familiar with, an entire other to be a wandering little kid with no one looking out for her.

Ace stirs. He comes out of his bathroom to check on her and she's wide awake, looking around, gathering things in. She notices him and jumps, then relaxes and sinks deeper into the cushions.

"No, no, get up."

She grumbles into the blanket, but obeys.

* * *

Whatever the professor told him was right, again. I didn't have a single nightmare with him in the room. However, it was not the cure I'd hoped for. It's been a week, and more often than not a dream will chase me into his room and I wake up in a pile of blankets next to the bed.

"This is a bad habit, I don't have to tell you," he reminds me one morning.

Hiding with him alleviates some problems, but since they can't get me at night when I'm sleeping, they've started coming to me in the daytime.

I thought I'd nodded off at my desk when I saw Storm and the other students transform into different people and all turn to stare at me. I got up and backed out of the room and into the hallway as fast as I could. The change of scenery dissipated the delusion, and I realized with a sinking horror that I was still awake. Storm had followed me out and was crackling with irritation, which only triggered the dream all over again. I sat on a couch with my eyes closed and my ears covered until she kindly walked me to the Professor's office. There, I curled up tight in an upholstered chair, desiring with every bone in my body to be somewhere else, but too pathetic to get up and move. I knew if I opened my eyes there would be the hallucination still waiting for me and I couldn't face it.

Four days later I wish I'd reacted with a bit more dignity because now I'm in a worse situation. The professor has set aside an hour of his time every week to _talk_ to me about the issue. He trusts me despite my obvious violent inclinations, but I can't return the sentiment. There's nothing about me that's trustworthy, so I doubt him.

Every Thursday for an hour, I'm trying to see how I can get it down to half an hour, I have a therapy session with him. He's intuitive, he'll figure me out, but I judge I'm more stubborn.

"How are you today, Ace?"

"Uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry. Is there any way I can help, or would you just rather not be here?"

I raise my eyebrows.

"Alright. Well, I know how you feel about aggravating personal questions, so we'll avoid those. I'd just like to talk about school for now. You're doing quite well in everything," he says with an amused smile, "You've read ahead no doubt in English. How are you liking the book?"

I settle into the cushions of the chair, "It's alright."

"Shelley tends towards the melodramatic, but of course that _was_ the style of the time."

I smile at him. He's good, "I think it balances out. No, I think the only real low points are of course the biological inaccuracies. The story is so good I can forgive them though."

Xavier nods in agreement, "Her portrayal of humanity, what do you think of that?"

"Excellent. Victor is the embodiment of human arrogance of course, but each of his relatives represents something too, and I can't quite put my finger on it."

His eyes twinkle, "Think of them more as a whole instead of individually. They are removed one by one and each time Victor loses something."

I chew on my cheek and curl my feet underneath me in the fancy chair and he does not protest. "Sanity?"

"Strength. Having such a family gave him strength. Have you read to the end?"

"Yes. I hate his death."

"In what way?"

"Because the monster never gets his revenge," I bite my tongue as my heart jumps into my throat, "and he realizes there's nothing left for him and goes to die."

Xavier nods gravely, "It's a rather open ending isn't it?"

"Not terribly. You're quite certain what happens."

"Perhaps, but every ending is different depending on the point of view of the reader. How do you think it ends?"

"He does it he goes out to the middle of nowhere and kills himself. What's he got left to live for?"

His brows crook, "He could do that, but think about the peasant family he loved."

"They rejected him."

"Yes, but what if on the way to kill himself he found some other reason to live? Some other person or home that actually accepted him?"

"He'd been rejected so many times, and he loathed himself, why would he try again?"

"Well, why did he keep trying with all those other people? He _knew_ he couldn't be accepted, but he still loved humanity and still hoped."

"Well, yes. The monster _is_ compassion- That's the other illogical point; how could Victor Frankenstein create personality and emotional feelings out of a collection of corpses and electrodes?"

"He didn't."

"But he had to put in the capability."

"Maybe he didn't, maybe his creation was successful merely by chance. Maybe the irony of his arrogance is that the creature only came to life with the help of a divine hand."

"Or maybe it's a one-hundred year old story and we're over-thinking it."

"Or maybe the creature is still alive," smiles the professor with a bit of a quirk.

"Then the monster isn't very smart."

"Well, I guess that's up to him."

"Hm., can we just skip the rest of the romantics? They're so…they don't…"

"Share your viewpoint?" he assists.

I'm about to agree when something finally clicks. I sit upright, watching him guardedly, and straighten out my legs, "May I go now?"

Xavier checks the clock over his shoulder. "Alright. I'd like to see you again next week at the same time though. And for a little longer, mind you."

I get up slowly, watching the second hand on the clock tick by.

"Have a good evening, professor."

"Likewise, Ace," he responds kindly.

* * *

"How is she?"

"You were right."

Logan's heart sinks.

"There's hope though," continues Xavier, "you were right about that too."

"What should I do?"

"She needs consistency and companionship she knows she can trust. With her personality she might be easily overwhelmed by sudden or massive changes-"

"What about the nightmares?" interjects Logan, leaning against a window frame, "Are they serious or...?"

"Post traumatic stress," Xavier reassures him calmly, "I can't make any perfectly sound analyses as long as she keeps me out of her head, but the signs are quite clear and she claims to have had them for over a year. I don't think the problem would be half so difficult to address if she'd received therapy immediately after the trauma, but I'm afraid her condition has actually been aggravated since then."

"What the hell, by what?"

Xavier sighs and rubs his forehead, "Patience is all we have, Logan. Our priority now is just to get her out of danger and keep her there. Just continue doing what you're doing, make her feel comfortable and protected. Hopefully, she'll become more stable after adolescence."

Logan grumbles to himself, watching heavy clouds get into formation in the sky. His brows meet over the bridge of his nose.

The kids outside are ushered back in, basketballs and other equipment stored away, and the garden shed latched tight. Ororo Munroe leaves her curtains wide open to admire the coming deluge, and Charles Xavier settles into his study to finish off the last few chapters of _Oliver Twist_. Logan and Jean pass each other in the hall with a friendly nod as Logan heads to the library.

Ace has a sofa all to herself in the corner, a large atlas encumbering her gangly legs. The other students idle over homework and snicker over passed notes, hiding cell phones under the edges of tables as Logan walks by, forgetting as they always do that he can hear the low hum of every electronic device in the vicinity like many bees in a hive.

The rumble of approaching thunder ripples through him and he knows by now what a night like this is to her. She sniffles, and turns the page of the atlas, whence her eyes immediately begin roving, memorizing every detail of the map, calculating distances and rates of travel in her mind. While their hearing might be at the same level, her eyesight clearly works very differently than his. Turning her head she blinks up at him, and gives him a warm smile through said eyes. She rarely just smiles.

He leans over to take a glance at her map.

"Manhattan, huh?"

"It's an important place."

"You missed gym today."

"I know. Nobody came looking for me," she gives a contented sigh and looks back over her volume to find the exact street she left off on.

"Gym is important," tests Logan. She's onto him and merely raises a sarcastic eyebrow.

"We both know I could be doing something better with my time than playing tennis," she turns the book around in her lap so the map is facing away from her, "Besides, I'm not suited for team sports."

Thunder rolls again, closer this time, and she shifts uneasily in her seat with a grimace. He notices as she suddenly devotes herself to learning this map backwards and forwards and any further conversation is at a halt now, so he gives her shoulder a brief nudge.

"Just show up at least tomorrow, 'right? It'll be in the gym cuz of the rain, you can watch them slip all over the waxed floors." He gets a sinister little chuckle from her on that one.

_She's got more than a chance, prof, _says Logan in his head as he walks away, _Look at 'er, she's got plans. _

* * *

_No!_ This didn't just happen, I am not- oh no. I'm outside. I went to bed just as the storm was beginning, let the rain lull me to sleep, and didn't have a single nightmare. At least, I can't recall one.

I've woken up in a little nest of leaves underneath a wide spreading bush. It's drizzling. My hair is damp through, as are my clothes. I must've run out here at the end of the storm, otherwise I should be completely drenched. I wore a sleeveless shirt when I went to bed and now I have gooseflesh. _I can't believe you're doing this again!_ I scream at myself, _What is wrong with you?! _I don't know my way back from here. The rain has suffocated all scent and I see no lights anywhere. In every direction the forest looks the same and there's no wind. I sniff around my nest under the bush until I find a trace of my own scent leading away. It's disappearing fast, but now I might be able to follow the trail of disrupted leaves home.

I've only walked about ten yards when I hear someone coming towards me through the loam. I stand still and vanish.

"I know you're there, darlin'. You alright?" Logan walks up to me and stops with an unsettled look at the place where my heart beats in terror. He sniffs the air once to make sure. "It's just me, Ace. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'm not asleep," I say, reappearing, "I know who you are."

He utters a discouraged sound and heads toward me, quickly taking off his coat. It lands heavily around my shoulders, but on the front of me instead of the back.

"Logan-"

He lifts me off my feet like a featherweight and starts heading back the way he came.

* * *

I'm curled up on my bed in one of his thick flannel shirts and a pair of long sweatpants with the campus logo 'X' on the hip. Logan comes in with a mug of something steaming and a heavy blanket over his shoulder.

"Sit up." He hands me the drink then sits on the edge of the bed and settles the blanket gently around my shoulders. The drink is strong and bitter, but it melts my insides and seeps into every corner of me.

"I'm sorry I keep doing this," I say into the mug, "I don't know how to stop."

He lifts my damp hair out from under the blanket and spreads it out over my back, "How many times I gotta tell you to quit apologizing? Any ideas why you choose nights like this to panic?"

I shake my head and set my teeth on the ceramic edge of the mug, "I love the rain."

I know he's looking at my teeth. My incisors have always been sharper than everyone else's. They aren't veryabnormal, but they do draw attention which is why I hardly ever smile.

"Do you control those too?" he asks.

"Nuh-uh," I'm too exhausted to pull away from the mug. My nose is the coldest part of my body right now and the steam is comforting. My legs ache from running so far in my sleep, and I scuffed up my feet pretty bad somewhere. I've been wearing shoes far too long and my feet have gone all soft again.

Eyelids are getting heavy and Logan reaches for the mug before I fall asleep in it, but I clutch it tighter and take another few sips. "Isn't this coffee?"

"Yeah. Decaf."

"It's still coffee though."

"What's your point?"

I bump shoulders with him and grin, "I don't know. I'm just tired."

I set the mug on the nightstand and hug the blanket closer. I smell like coffee, cigars, and the woods. I'm not sure how the cigars factor in until I remember I'm in Logan's shirt. I yawn.

"Whoa, you've got a whole set of fangs there."

"I do _not_," I frown. I rub my nose to keep the warmth in it.

He just chuckles at his own dumb joke and rearranges my drying hair. "You're gonna be fine tonight, alright? You want me to stay in here?"

I shake my head. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"You have angry nightmares."

"Yeah."

"But you don't sleepwalk. How is that?"

He scrunches up his face and ruffles his fingers through his hair, "Ask Charlie, he knows everything."

"You know stuff too," I reach for the mug again, but it's cooled a little, "I wanted to see your Danger Room session."

"You're really interested in that aren't you?"

"Well, I need somewhere to practice. All I've been doing since I got here is reading and I'm getting lazy. I need to stretch, you know? It's been nice to unwind from all the traveling, but I can't sit still for too long."

He chuckles quietly to himself and shakes his head, "You're telling me. What _is_ the longest you've ever sat still?"

I lower my brows in irritation. He hits my knee lightly with his fist, "Go to sleep. We'll talk about arranging a practice session for you tomorrow."

He turns the light out as he leaves, taking the mug with him, and I tuck myself back under the sheets, burying my face in flannel.

* * *

Matthew Larson, a junior, is standing tall and proud in my seat in geometry. This is the second class we share and I've endured more than enough of his childish antics to keep me going for a lifetime. He calls himself a sonopath, someone who can control sound waves with his mind. So far the only proof of this talent is that he can replay anything he hears on the radio which is what he happens to be doing right now.

My seat is the tower holding up his beacon as he resonates a crude version of some trendy song throughout the classroom. Everyone is rocking in their seats, laughing, and singing along, but not as impressively as he. He's mouthing the words exactly and doing a lively performance of waving his hands in the air and swaying his hips.

Clearly, Mr. Summers' time is better spent somewhere else at the moment because this is open rebellion. I just lean by the door, waiting while the rest of the class becomes just a bit more rowdy. A particularly pretty girl with blue hair stands up on the desk next to him and begins dancing in her most obnoxiously sultry way. I've got to remember to write down the worst possible answers on our quiz today for when she tries to copy off me.

The door opens next to me and Summers finally walks in. He crosses his arms, exchanges a look with me, then observes the performance in stony silence. Several faces go a little pale and people turn quickly back in their seats. The girl blushes and clambers off the desk, straightening out her ruffled skirt as she hurries back to her seat. Unfortunately, Matthew has his eyes closed and is completely unaware of anything other than his own sound as he shakes his head along with the lyrics.

"Larson!"

Matt opens one eye, jolts, and practically collapses into my seat with a mildly sheepish expression on his face. "Sorry, teach."

Summers turns his tinted glasses on me.

"That's my seat," I say mundanely as I gesture to Matt.

Summers turns his gaze back on Matt, who grins boyishly and bounds back to his own desk. I hear a giggle, and a whisper, and look at the girl in the skirt as she pokes her girlfriend in the back, "_So_ cute."

I roll my eyes and sit down as Summers walks to the front of the class with an irritated gait. As I'm setting out my things I accidentally make eye contact with Matt. He winks. I roll my eyes again. The girl next to me wrinkles her nose, "You smell like cigars."

**Please review! I need some feedback.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for the faves guys :) **

It's a habit of mine to try and slink out after the bell and be down the hall before anyone notices me. I didn't think a pair of long legs would decide to catch up with me. I suck in my breath as the reek of his thick cologne reaches out to smother me.

"Hey," Matt says, his charm centering heavily on his grin.

"Hi," I speak to his expensive shoes.

"What's your name again?"

"Ace,"

"No, no, your real one."

"That one isn't real?"

"True. You're new here, right?"

"Been here a month or so,"

"You're in my…English class too?"

"No."

"You sure? You're in one of my oth- Chem! _That's_ where I've seen you."

I don't like the tone of his voice. He's being charming and overacting his interest in me, two things that no one's exhibited towards me so far. I know he must be laughing at me because I know he knows who I am. His voice has that jokey aspect to it, so I'm watching him carefully. "Why are you talking to me?"

"Cuz, I haven't met you yet, and I talk to everybody."

_No you do not. This is one of those times when you ask your friends to dare you to do something stupid like go make fun of the weird girl._ I feel the heat creep up my neck. He's not the kind of kid to get in a fight with since I really can't tell what he thinks he's doing, but I can't put up with it right now because between his cologne, and the lingering cigar scent, and the loamy odor sticking to the palms of my hands I'm in a muggy cloud of sensory overload here.

"I'm not someone you want to talk to," I say, "sorry."

I pick up speed and duck into my next class.

* * *

"So, this is what it looks like," Logan idly waves a hand about the interior of the Danger Room. It's a big, wide, round room with metal tiling on the walls and floor. It feels a bit like being in an aluminum can the size of an auditorium. There's an enclosed platform above us reaching out to the center of the room containing the control deck and monitors.

"Is it done by hologram?" I inquire dubiously.

"A little fancier than that, but essentially," he gestures at the platform, "Fire 'er up."

The room begins to transform and before I know it we're standing in an oak forest with yellow weeds scratching up to our knees. A warm breeze rustles through the branches gently and I can see blue sky above us.

"Cool," is the most insightful thing I can come up with at the moment.

Logan waves at the sky, "One more."

The environment changes gradually, appearing as pixels rapidly retreating then reforming. We're looking down now, down from the roof of a very tall building surrounded by miles and miles of city. I can hear a harbor not far away.

"Manhattan," I say impressed. I squint as a setting sun glints off a glittering skyscraper a few blocks away.

"It can make imaginary scenarios too, not everything has to be an actual pla-"

As he's speaking the room shifts once again and we find ourselves in a long, slanted hallway with a high ceiling. The slanted wall appears to be a rectangle of wooden beams with a gigantic canvas stretched between them and stapled to them with monstrous metal tabs. Intrigued I skip backwards to investigate the outside of the wall.

"Hey!" I've entered, or rather exited into, a giant's studio. The hallway we were in was the space behind a painter's canvas leaning against the wall. At this size the blank threads in the canvas are like notches and ridges on a climbing wall. "Can I climb on it?"

"No," he states with a wave of his hand, "Dave, shut it down!"

My heart sinks a little as the room melts back to its original form.

"I've got a schedule to keep, you have homework to do," Logan explains in a gruffly apologetic way, "Get to it."

Reluctantly, I leave, but not before thinking a few choices things until it occurs to me Xavier can probably hear them. I'm still ticked off about our meeting yesterday and the ones to follow, ticked off about last night, ticked off about the jerks in my math class, and now Logan is shooing me from the one thing I've shown an interest in. I stalk back to the elevator with a growl in my throat.

* * *

"So how old _are_ you really?"

This kid won't leave me alone. We're in the library and no amount of dirty looks will get her to shut up.

"I'm fourteen."

"Nuh-uh," her voice is unbearably loud, "I heard you're like, way old, like too old for school. They can kick you out for that."

She doesn't have any friends of her own to pester, and since we're both outcasts this apparently means we have to associate.

"Well that's a lie."

"Yeah, but then how old _are _you? I heard you got everything right on the entrance tests, and you're in all the 'smart' classes, so you must be really old."

"Age does not denote intelligence. How old are you?" I don't know what constitutes 'smart' class, but I might just revert to instinct and bite her.

"Thirteen."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm not smart, but that maybe the people you talk to are stupid?"

She frowns, "Geez, you're a jerk."

"Does that bother you?"

She rolls her eyes, "No wonder you don't have any friends."

"Stupid people bother me, therefore no, I don't befriend them."

She scowls and gets up, "Whatever, you're weird," and stalks off.

Even the losers think I'm weird.

* * *

I'm in the office again. Another fight, this time there were three of us. One kid at least wasn't a horrible fighter, he takes self-defense classes with Summers, but that's kind of how the fight started with him thinking he was something because he knew how to throw a punch. I cut him down to size.

Logan's in class, so it's just Summers berating us. The one kid got a bloody nose and the other's scuffed up a bit, but other than that I didn't really damage anyone. I've got a bruise starting on my shoulder blade I know is sure to be the size of an apple once it blooms, and a cut on my eyebrow, but other than a few angry side looks those jerks know better than to cross me now.

Summers's really ripping into his self-defense student who has a piece of Kleenex stuffed up his nostril. I think he was training for the team, to be an X-Man. Probably can't now. What a shame. The other kid is just sitting there looking sorry for himself. I'm kicking the seat leg with my heel waiting for this to be over.

Since this is my second reprimand naturally I should be getting detention, but thanks to my "condition" my hour of detention is being transformed into another hour of counseling with Xavier for nearly a month. So, that's two hours of therapy every week for three weeks. I wish they'd just confine me to my room. At least I could stay in bed and not have to see people. That would be immensely better and I wouldn't get in any fights.

"You can't just beat anyone who doesn't like you," Summers admonishes once the other two have left the room, "Otherwise we'd all have armies to fight."

I try to see his eyes through his glasses, but the material they're made of is aggravatingly distorting. He knows I'm not taking his advice to heart.

"Xavier will see you now."

It bothers me when the teachers do or say something they couldn't possibly know about until I realize Xavier is 'talking' to them from wherever he is in the house.

When I enter the room he's intent on his paperwork, but manages to give a disapproving arch of his brow.

"I'm sure Scott has already discussed your actions with you in full."

"Yeah," he didn't really, which was a surprise.

"Have a seat," Xavier says.

There are eight plastic chairs by his desk for his physics class that just got out. I think of taking the one farthest away from him, but that wouldn't end favorably and I don't feel like getting on his bad side in such a petty way right now.

"What can be done to make you happier here, Ace?"

He's asking for the sake of asking, which is kind, but we both know exactly what I need.

"I don't want to be in here all the time. I can take care of myself."

"I don't doubt that at all, however, this problem needs to be resolved in some way. I understand you're in pain and you want to deal with it on your own, but you're using it to lash out at other students and that is not acceptable. Ace," his tone of voice changes slightly, "you are mistaken if you think I'm trying to _fix_ you. I might not be able to change the past, but I can help you with _some_ things.

"How? The dreams are never going to go away."

"There are medications that can aid in lessening the impact and frequency of the dreams. Your reaction to the dreaming is a mere chemical imbalance brought on by stress. The medication is designed to control and inhibit certain chemical reactions."

"What about the hallucinations?"

"Same thing, it's a wrong route your brain is taking. Unfortunately, in terms of hallucinogen medication there's very little out there for young adults _without _a psychosis. There are a few trial drugs, of course, but-"

"How much medication am I going to be taking?"

"Well-"

"I've looked it up," I inform him, "The dreams and the hallucinations are just the beginning; there'll be meds for the sleep, the hyper-sensitivity, the depression, the withdrawal-"

"You don't-"

"I'm not a patient, I don't need medicine and doctors," I clench my jaw, "There's got to be another way to get rid of the- no," I can already tell what line of reasoning he's going to use here, "I am not _talking_ about it either. No therapy."

"The talking combined with the medication is the most helpful option. None of your symptoms can be cured through use of medication anyhow. Talking is the best way to get better it helps to lessen the pain."

"It really doesn't."

A leaf flutters past the window behind him. My left hand tightens into a fist. The clock ticks, our hearts beat, students walk past the room chattering.

"Ace, what is it? What has harmed you so bad you think it can't be undone?"

"I don't want you knowing," my head gets hot and I tighten both fists, "I don't want anyone knowing, no one needs that kind of information floating around in their heads. No one needs that kind of pain. Just, I can handle it."

"Alright, let me help," the lines over his forehead crease.

"Don't put me on medication."

"Not even for the hallucinations?"

"They don't happen often,"

"And when they do? When you're in the middle of class and you think someone is attacking you? What will happen then?"

I gaze over his shoulder and out the window again. I don't know what will happen, I don't know who I'll hurt, all I know is I don't want to be a project. I place my fists in my lap and focus on them.

"When you fought with those two boys was that part of a hallucination?"

"No."

"Had either of them bothered you before?"

"No."

"Are they in any of your classes?"

"No."

"Ace, look at me. Was last night part of a hallucination?"

"I don't know _what_ last night was," I reply tersely.

He backs off on that point. "Did you go to school before this?"

I don't reply, so he changes the question, "Where did you learn to read and write?"

I continue to be unresponsive. He closes his eyes tiredly, "Ace, is getting into fights a _habit _of yours?"

"No."

"But someone's clearly taught you how."

I breathe in deeply and let my eyelids droop.

"Ace, give me a way to help you."

No one has ever asked me that. I don't think I like it. It feels strange. Help me? He still can't make anything go away without getting in my head. He's so earnestly sincere though. Is he like this with all his students? Of course he is. I'm weird, but I'm not special.

"Professor, why can't I schedule a Danger Room session?"

"You can if you want to. There are a few open spaces in my morning power control class."

"Is there any way I can schedule a _private_ session? Without other students around."

"A private session wouldn't be every day, mind you, and you will be supervised until your instructor thinks you're ready to move on."

"That's fine," that's a relief. I can't imagine being stuck in that environment and have to use my abilities in front of other kids. "Can I pick my instructor?"

"Yes, you can. They need to sign an agreement, and not all staff, of course, are Danger Room instructors. If you'll come back later I'll have the paperwork for you from Miss Grey when she isn't busy."

"Great, thanks," I smile.

"You're quite welcome," he smiles back, "and try not to get into anymore tussles; especially with Matthew."

I give him a look and we both kind of smirk at one another.

"Yeaah," I say, "We'll see about that."

We sit quietly for a little while.

"I can go now right?"

"Yes, go on and leave me be." And with that charming admonition he waves me off and goes back to his work.

* * *

"You and me, paperwork practically signs itself."

"Oh yeah? How do you know I wasn't gonna pick Scott?"

Logan looks at me hesitantly, "Were you?"

"No!"

"Why not? He's a good teacher,"

"Yeah, but I already have him for math and..."

He gives me an approving smile and a short nod, "Alright, I'll see you down there on Monday an hour before Lights Out. Got it?"

"Got it."

And he's off, probably to grade papers, or drink beer, or growl at something. Or all of those things together, I really couldn't say. But whatever it is it's not going to happen here in the hallway because I'm by myself now. Except for the person standing behind me.

"What have you got against Summers?"

"Are you _listening_ to my conversations?"

Matt puts his hands up defensively, "Hey, I was just passing by! Don't get mad at me."

I still think he was eavesdropping, but I'm going to ignore it.

"He's a cool guy, everybody likes him."

I continue ignoring him as I head upstairs to my bedroom.

"Hey, we're starting a movie in the lounge, wanna come?"

"Not really."

"Suit yourself," he replies. Somebody turns on a stereo and Matt heads off to the lounge. It takes me a second to notice the music is getting fainter as Matt walks further away.

The next morning I wake up with the song he was playing in my head. I'd never heard it until last night, but it's repeating itself over and over again and driving me crazy. Then I forget about it for a blissful while, spending my weekend in the unpopulated areas of the school reading, until Matt saunters into algebra Monday morning and plunks into his seat, and the song is back in an instant. I might have to beat him up.

Summers has been lecturing for about twenty minutes straight and the entire class is in a state of agitated boredom. Lately I've started doodling like it's my last act on Earth. Summers dulls into a continuous noise in the background as the margins of my notebook become infested with acres of ink. I always start the class taking a few notes, but the page quickly descends into anarchy and the many remaining lines become rows in a field of insane scribbling. I don't even understand what I'm doing and by the time class ends I'll wake from this stupor and wonder how on earth I did all that.

I awaken early this time, however, as I find myself writing song lyrics into my notes. I scowl and shoot a look in Matt's direction.

He's unusually quiet over there. Matt always has to put his two cents into everything, the funny guy to the teacher's straight man. But today he's bent over his paper, scribbling silently. I've never noticed him that deep into anything before, not even flirting. He's completely in his own head. I try to center my empathy on just him, but I can't do that so well from this distance and with so much interference in between.

I decide to risk a test. Without hesitation I push everything off my desk at once. It hits the ground with the satisfactory alarm; books slamming against the linoleum, writing utensils spinning off under desks, papers flapping, all causing the nerves in the room to leap and everyone to turn and look at me. Summers glances up, brows dipping under his glasses. I take all the faces in quickly then look back at Matt. He hasn't budged. I wait until he realizes everyone is the room is distracted and turns to see. I meet his gaze dead on. He was _muting_ us.

"Sorry," I apologize to Summers flatly as I bend down to retrieve my things.

I expect to be censured in front of everyone, or told to see him after, but he's noticed Matt too and I get the feeling he's quite familiar with this particular talent of his. Matt's giving me the deadeye, something I never expected from him.

I wink.


	6. Chapter 6

"Hokay," says Logan, "first things first, show me your powers."

"What? You've seen them."

"I've seen a few of 'em, and I know you've picked up a couple since you got here. Show me how they're coming along."

"In here?"

"That's the purpose of the room, scrawny."

Reluctantly, I let a little frost build on my fingers and climb up my forearm.

"Forget it, I'm not doing that,"

He just gives me a stern glare. I let the ice melt and replace it with Piotr's armor, testing my arm out for any flexibility issues, then let it gradually power down before taking a look around at the "equipment" in the room. I walk over to a steel climbing pole and, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, walk straight through it. I tremble as it coolly phases through my entire body, splitting me down the middle. I make it out the other side feeling a bit numb and a little sick, but I'm still in one piece.

"You have been busy," is all Logan says.

"I also have a bit of, er, empathy," just learned that word the other day, "but it isn't very strong unless I'm in a crowd. And you already know the other things I can do."

"Yeah, could you show me those too?" he orders more than asks.

I feel ridiculous explaining myself in this way, and I hate being on display. I purse my lips and turn invisible. He follows my general position with his eyes as his ears tell him where I am. I walk in a wide arc around him, slowly lowering my body heat and letting my heartbeat slow. I revel in the gradually perturbed expression in his face as he begins to lose track of me. I'm barely breathing, taking long, silent strides back, joints trembling as they carry my hardly living body over the cold floor. He sniffs the air and looks back over his shoulder to where I had originally been standing.

"How long have you had that one?"

"Since we first met. I used it to make you think I was dead," I wait for the lecture.

"Where the hell'd you learn it?"

I shrug as I reappear, "I can't remember. Maybe it was someone at the facili-," I look around quickly, "does this room have- does it record-"

"Yes."

I zip it, "What do you want me to do now?"

"That all the powers you have?"

"No, just the easy ones to exhibit," I reply, still scoping out the room and pushing my senses to do so. It's specifically designed to alter your perception, it's wider than it physically should be, it echoes certain sounds and muffles others, and I've noticed the temperatures and smells can change in here too. The technology is intriguing, but I was never one to get caught up in ones and zeros. It's going to take a lot of getting used to.

"Well I think you've got a good grasp on the old ones, let's practice controlling the newer ones."

"I don't really pay them enough attention to _lose_ control."

"Mutations have the inconvenient habit of getting involved when you're paying the least attention."

"My mutations aren't exactly the same though," I've read about the many episodes of mutants losing control of their abilities always written as ending with humiliating or disastrous results, "I have to cultivate them to get them to be anywhere near that level of interesting."

"Ace, quit arguing with me and listen. I've been working with Kitty, Pete, and Bobby on their abilities. They've had them longer than you and there are still times when they surprise themselves, okay?"

"Logan, I've had my powers longer than they've been alive," I say in a low tone, "I know what I'm talking about."

He huffs. I think I've won that point.

"Well, then in your case the first part of power control is emotion control. No more beating up jerks on the playground, you need to learn to keep your ang- where are you going?"

"Forget it, I'm not doing this."

"You don't get to decide that."

I turn on him, "I don't? You and the Professor are always trying to get stuff out of me. Fine, you want something? I'm not doing this _again_. I'm not having anybody tell me what I need to control. I've spent the last dozen years of my life under control, holding it all in, ignoring it like they told me to. It didn't help them and it hasn't helped me and now my brain is misfiring thanks to the years of repression, so I'm moving on. If this is just another place like that then forget it, I'm not-not-"

"Okay," he says gently, "don't stress yourself out."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Ace, shut up."

"Why?"

"Because you're right," he starts walking towards me, "You're here to relieve stress. Now c'mon you're fighting me you got it?"

"Okay."

He hesitates, "I won't pop any claw on you right off."

"Oh. So, just sparring?"

"You sound disappointed."

"No, I just- are we going to fight or not?" I wonder if at some point he'll still try and teach me emotion control, or if he just really wants to kick my butt right now.

"Yeah, you start."

"Why?"

"Because I'm telling you to, that's why."

"So, just fighting, no powers or anything?"

"Yep, just a bit of a tussle."

I start walking toward him to cover the short distance between us, "What's my goal though, do I need to knock you down or-?"

I immediately duck as he reaches out to swat me, dodging around into his blind spot. I spend the next few minutes bobbing and weaving, avoiding contact until I'm sure of what we're doing. He's getting a little fed up with me until I finally get a nice second to box him under the ribs. He hardly notices except to say,

"Don't pull your punches, kid, I'm not made of china."

I'm pretty sure he just thinks I'm weak. My second hit is stronger and he grunts from the impact.

The muscle around my bruised shoulder from Friday's fight begins to ache, as do most of my other unused muscles, as the fight carries on.

"You're pulling _your_ punches," I accuse after I've been barely bruised in three places.

"Have to."

I block a hit and try to push him back, but he only rocks slightly on his feet. He's a lot heavier than I calculated.

"Yeah? Why's that?"

He begins picking up his pace to match mine, getting closer to striking me every time. You can learn more about a person from the way they fight than anything else. Logan is a mix of different styles and techniques, making him versatile and seemingly unpredictable. But he has his favorites. I keep each move in mind, grabbing details and storing them away for future practice.

"I guess I haven't told you," he replies, knocking my legs out from under me, "I'll tell you later."

"I'm fighting you now, tell me now."

"Is has to do with- _umph_ – the facility. It wasn't just the claws."

"Right, they gave you those?"

"They gave me an entire skeleton."

He knocks me over with that one and I kind of slide across the sleek flooring, "They- they _replaced_-"

"No, no, eh, grafted onto."

"So that's why you weigh a ton?"

He lunges to tackle me. I brace my arms against the floor and lift my body so my feet catch him hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him briefly.

I scramble to stand and decide I really don't want to take any more hits from a man with armored bones. He recovers quickly and goes to hit me again, but it misses by a mile. Any muscle pain has ceased by now as I get more and more into the fight. I'm a little out of my mind when I succeed in a particularly tricky dodge and, out of giddy adrenaline, take a split second to lash out and snag his uniform with my claws. Realizing the idiocy of this at the same time as he pivots to smack me, I jump back several feet to avoid my certain doom. If I wasn't sure to get clobbered I'd do it again. That was fun.

"Oh, you're getting cocky now, eh?" and his claws come out.

"How is that fair?"

Now that I know the reason for his weight I can judge moves more accurately. The first part is getting used to the movements of those blades. After a bit of wrestling and snarling in which I get knocked down once or twice, I finally get him face first on the floor with his arms pinned down. He could still shake me off if he tried, but instead he retracts the claws. His skin heals speedily like they were never there.

"Alright, get off."

"What's the magic word?"

"Outside, where you'll be sleeping if you don't get off!"

I can't help but smile at that, and since I can't think of anything more aggravating to say I comply.

Logan has been through just as much heavy trauma as I have- that he remembers-, yet besides the occasional nightmare he seems fine. If all of my issues stem from chemical imbalances like the Professor says, which are physical wrongs, then Logan's healing ability must be what keeps him stable. Otherwise his behavior should be just as erratic as mine.

He gives me a semi-pleased, semi-disgruntled look when he gets up, which I take as a good sign. "Okay, now we have something to work with."

* * *

I'm bouncing in my seat like a little kid, looking forward to Wednesday, my next Danger session. We aren't going to fight all the time, last night was just fun. It was too close to curfew though because I was wide awake from the exercise. Then again maybe that was the point of scheduling it so close to night terror time. I sigh in frustration. This day could not be taking longer.

In terms of class time, things have gone from disruptive to aggravating. Jean is substituting in our chem. class today which is unfortunate as I was going to ask our regular teacher that he tweak the new seating chart so I don't end up sitting behind Matthew. I'm stuck now.

Matt, however, is getting a lot of enjoyment out of the new arrangement. Every time we're supposed to be working quietly he leans his head back on my desk, covering up my work and grinning at me with that stupid face.

"What up? I can see up your nose."

I spin my pen between my fingers, telling myself to be patient, while harboring the urge to stab him between the eyes.

"Matt," Jean intrudes. He sits up genteelly and I know he has that obnoxious grin on his face when he asks,

"Yes, Miss Grey?"

"Stop flirting with Ace, she doesn't like you."

"The whole point of flirting is to change that isn't it?" he persuades.

"That's not how this particular venture is going to end," she replies with a bit more passive aggression than I thought her capable of.

She shares a look with me and for a minute we have an understanding. I loosen my grip on the pen and relax in my seat. She goes back to helping a student and Matt quickly scribbles something on his notebook and lifts it up so I can see it over his shoulder. I ignore him and keep working. He jars his seat against my desk, and kind of waves the notebook around. Before I have a chance to leave a permanent mark on the back of his peach-fuzzed neck Jean snaps at him again. He slams the notebook back on the desk and immediately leans forward as the picture of studiousness. I implore Jean with my eyes to let me maim him. She ignores me and Matt chuckles.

Very, long, day.

Tuesdays I have to drag myself to the Professor's office before dinner bell and spend an extra hour being evasive. As I walk in, Xavier looks up and smiles at me, "Go ahead and stay standing, we'll be moving this elsewhere for today."

He puts his desk in order giving me a chance to look the room over. This is the office I visited on my first day here. The walls are lined with walnut bookshelves and there are tall, wide windows behind his desk that look out over the best part of the school grounds. The fountain and part of the garden are visible, and kids roam freely among the foxglove. I'd rather be out there then in here trying to pretend I can erase my own memories.

"Professor?"

"Ye-es?"

"I think I'll just say this in every meeting from now on; you don't want to know what's happening in my head. It's not a pain I plan on sharing with anyone. It will go away on its own and the pain will stop, and I won't burden anyone with the responsibility. I do know what I'm doing."

"I trust you," and that ends it. He nods his head at a little table set up across the room, "Have you ever played chess?"

"I've played…versions of it. I think the rules are the same."

"Come, we'll go down to the one in the study as this one," he gestures again to the set, "is in progress."

I wonder how I missed the board the first few times I was here. Dust has settled thinly over it and the pieces show a tense battle. In progress for quite a while and far from finished. From the lack of seating on one side of the board I understand that that is Xavier's side. All the positions are clever and thought out, but his opponent is aggressive.

"Ace," Xavier calls from the door.

"Coming," I take a mental picture of the board and hurry after him.

* * *

Lately, Matt and his various companions have started to come and sit near me in the library. They become intentionally noisy and Matt, who always gets a seat in front of my armchair, is constantly leaning his chair back and hitting me in the knees. He never apologizes unless I point out the issue or try to move, and then he makes a big show of it to make me look like an idiot.

There's no malice in anything he's doing. He's just enjoying being a jerk and he's happy that way which is why I need to punch him.

"You can't punch him."

"Why not?" I ask in exasperation.

"He's got important family. If you start trouble with him you could start trouble for the school."

"Are you kidding? He can hassle me all he wants because he's well-off?"

"No, he's going to stop that," Logan reassures, "but you're not going to be the one who teaches him. Now come down."

I twist my body halfway round to change my grip on the bar and swing down, catching the lower bar two feet away with my toes. I drop to it deftly without losing my balance, proud that I haven't gotten completely out of shape. My bare feet slap against the floor of the Danger Room.

"Can I do something harder next week? I can do better than this."

"Sure," he raises an eyebrow and nods at the bar I just descended from. It's six feet off the ground, "You a tree climber?"

"Haven't spent a lot of time around trees, but I enjoy climbing them when I get the chance, yeah."

"Gymnastics then?"

"Yes. Very weird, very hard gymnastics," I point to my upper arm.

"That hard, huh?" he says evenly as he eyes the brown scar dashed just below my shoulder.

"I'm messing with you, Logan," I nudge his leg with my foot.

"Alright, alright," he chuckles, "You're not that smart, don't do that again."

I laugh and he snatches a strand of my hair and gives it a sharp tug. I can tell he wants to ask me something, but he's holding back. I narrow down the number of things it could be before I settle on an obvious one.

"Xavier thinks I need medication. He's been trying to convince me of it ever since Jean gave me that checkup."

"Well you're in luck for a while," he replies, "She's nervous about prescribing anything without a medical history, doesn't know what will put you off. As for Xavier, he can get annoying as hell, but he means well."

"I just don't want him to know anything," I concede.

"Never tell anyone what goes on in your head and you might as well be a rock. Hell, you won't even tell me what goes on in there," he taps my head with his finger, "Must be worse than what I think it is."

"There's not really anything happening up there lately. I don't think about any of it until something reminds me."

"Yeah, I suppose that's how it works."

I assume he means the stress disorder, "The only trouble that's ever on my mind on its own is that irritant Larson."

"Forget about him. He's a wimp whose mom probably still sends him packed lunches every day. You could wipe the floor with him, but I think you've stayed your welcome in that category. What am I going to do if you keep alienating all your classmates? You need to get a life."

"I'm still in high school, what do you expect from me, eh? Is anyone in the booth?"

"Nah, I'm going to shut it down myself. Well, quit hangin' around me. You're picking up my accent, it's weird."

"Oh, I sound Canadian, eh?" I try to flatten my voice and give it nasally edges, "'You're picking up my accent.'"

"Knock it off," he smacks me on the side.

"'Knock it off,'" I try again, but my blood goes a little cold. I accidentally slipped into mimicry there and played his voice right back to him instead of just his accent.

He stands at the exit and looks at me in confusion.

"It was an accident, I'm sorry," I wince then check myself. No that was the right voice.

"How do you do that?" he asks sternly.

"I just- it's- birds can do it. Mockingbirds, or- or parrots. I learned it from them."

"You learn from…animals?"

"Yeah. I- I think that's how I got the claws."

"Okay, wait. All that time you spent away from people you were walking around outdoors," he stares at me as it collates, "You've been copying animals all this time?"

"I'm just observant. I see an interesting skill and I wonder if I could do that too. Sometimes I can't, sometimes I don't like it once I've tried it, but I don't know until I've tested it. Animals do cool things all the time, and, they just make more sense to me."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this the other day?"

"It was a lot to explain and I felt uncomfortable."

"These are things you should tell me," he beckons me out of the room as he fiddles with the control pad by the door. The light of the hallway is white and sharp.

"Go on to bed now," he says with a pat on my shoulder, "you did good."

I walk toward the elevator until the door to the control room has slid shut behind him then backtrack quickly and rush to the doors at the far end of the hall. From the meager scents down here I can tell Xavier is the only one who visits the room behind these doors. They are large, round, and shining, and the blue orb in the center appears to be a sensor of some kind. I have to investigate everything that's strange to me, and besides, this end of the hall smells most like Xavier. I focus in on every detail, every seam and groove in the door, creating a mental blueprint of it. The sensor ignores me, I'm not what it's looking for, but I study it thoroughly as well before straining to perceive the room beyond.

There's nothing inside. It's a large empty room from what I can tell. But it's meticulously designed and clearly important to Xavier. I suppose it might be something like the Danger Room, but they already have one room like that, why two? No it must be something more important and personal if Xavier's the only one allowed in.

I sprint back to the elevator, passing other unmarked doors in the hallway. I'm not going to get into anyone's business here I'd just like to be aware of it. Logan and Jean like each other, Logan and Scott don't, Xavier is playing dangerous chess with someone and has a high-tech room all to himself. Every student, teacher, and laundry lady in this building has a bizarre deformity that allows them to do amazing things, and some of them even use their abilities to protect the outside world.

And then there's me. With no medical history I'm essentially a guess and check, and the Professor tells me most medications for my specific diagnosis are experimental anyhow. So in terms of solving my disorder I'm either a cocktail of inaccurate drugs, or a guinea pig.

I lie in bed wondering how I can be so interested in the world yet so done with myself by wanting to know everything, but be nothing. Sinking gently into the covers, my heavy lids closing, I let the goings-on of an exhausted mind contemplate my paradox while I sleep. That is, of course, it's busiest hour.


	7. Chapter 7

I take a deep breath and press my claws into my skin.

"Ow!" I hiss quietly and withdraw my hand. The five small punctures let a little blood, then after several seconds, they suddenly begin to heal. In half a minute all that's left are a few marks of blood which I wash off under the sink. Looking in the mirror I am again surprised to see how my face has changed. Not a freckle, blemish, or speck of damage. Even a couple of pockmarks I've had all my life, have been covered over with fresh skin. It's startling. This plan may not work, but I'm already a fan.

The girls next door start to get out of bed. I grab my things, wipe down the sink, and skip across the hall back to my dorm. I may have a single room to myself, but I still have to share one bathroom with four other girls, so I try to be in and out before I get in their way.

"Bwaha!" Matt flashes fanged teeth in my face before striding over to his seat laughing. He turns halfway and raises his eyebrows at blue-haired Lyndsay.

"Hey," he says in his best sultry voice, "I'm a, sexy vampire."

"Ooo, are you going to bite me?"

"Summers, may I be excused?" asks someone sitting near them, "I have to go vomit."

"Okay, Larson," Summers chuckles, "enough with the teeth. Everyone pass up your homework."

During the notes a quarter rolls under my desk. I bite my tongue and keep draw- er, writing. An eraser head bounces across my notebook. I aim the sharp end of the pencil at Matthew and he turns back quickly with a smirk. Scott looks up and I bite the end of the pencil casually. When he's distracted I find the eraser head and throw it back pinging it off Matt's ear. He gives me a surprised smirk over his shoulder.

Bell rings and I'm a good distance down the hall when he hops alongside me again.

"Hey do you have the chem. homework? I kind of, um, lost it."

"Could that have been when you were sucking the face off of Lyndsay yesterday?

"NO," he says with wide-eyed offence, "…okay, maybe. Can I copy yours?"

"Buzz off, Matt."

"Um, you have really good aim."

I give him a queer look.

"When you hit me with the- never mind, it was a failed attempt at flattery, I _really_ need that homework, Amy."

"Ace,"

"Right. So?"

"I said buzz off."

"C'mon, you aren't _that_ mean, even if you did rat me out to Summers the other day. Thanks for that by the way, I appreciated it."

"Matt, I really don't like you. You know I don't like you, why are you trying to get me to do stuff for you?"

"Don't be lame, man, I just thought you'd have the homework all finished and shit and you'd let me borrow it."

"Don't swear you sound stupid when you swear, and yes, I'd gladly let you cheat."

"Thanks."

"Sarcasm."

"Oh. Fine, I don't need you," and just like that he ditches me and heads for a chubby blonde who happens to be in our chem. class. Pathetic.

* * *

I can't handle running into him in the library today. I'm in a rather good mood, and I don't want to ruin that. I sweep away orange and black confetti from a bench in a lower part of the garden and sit down. The sun is setting as I start to walk back, and I'm a bit lost in thought when a girl walks up from the field and says,

"Hey, you wanna race?"

I look behind me. There's no one else she could be talking to, "Where to?"

"Just t'other end of the field and back," she points.

I look around again. There are a few clusters of kids nearby, but they aren't paying any attention. "Okay," I say, trying to sound friendly.

She looks a little proud as she flips back her short, straight hair. I set my book down on top of my sweater and follow her to the starting point.

"On your mark, get set, go!"

I haven't run in ages. I cover ground quickly, throwing my legs out in front of me in wild strides. After your body gets over the initial surprise of physical exertion it starts to ache and complain, letting you know you've made a mistake and now would be a good time to stop. Halfway across the field it begins begging, telling me it can't handle the stress, and pointing out that the other side is much farther than I originally thought. The girl is at my elbow, only a few inches behind. I finally get to the other side, pivot, and burst off again. I'm practically flying now, my body's protests silenced as I glide into a runner's high. It's no longer a labor to breathe. My lungs adjust to this as though sprinting were just as natural as breathing and everything inside falls back into its place as it recalls how good it feels to pretend gravity can't hold you down.

I've just hit that speed where I feel like I am the wind when a dizzying _whoosh _of air causes me to lose a step. An unearthly blur speeds past me and skids to a grassy stop at the other end of the field. She turns, crosses her arms, and watches my progress with smug pity. I slow to a jog then walk the last few steps. A mutation that enhances speed. Cheap.

"You quit?" she asks with derision.

I study her face, flat blue eyes, beige freckles, sneer, and restrain myself.

"I felt sorry for you," I said.

"_You_ felt sorry for me?" she asks, uncrossing her arms, "I beat you."

"Yeah, and that's pretty sad on your part isn't it? You clearly needed your ego flattered and racing a snail wasn't going to do it, so you picked me instead. Honestly you should've just raced the snail, it would've at least been a fair game."

"_Excuse me?_ What the heck is that supposed to- Are you calling me _slow?"_

"No, I'm calling you stupid," I snap, "If you raced something as smart as a snail I'd still feel sorry for you because your life _has _to stink more than mine."

She kicks me in the shin and shouts, "I beat you! You're a freak! I was here first, I deserve to win, you _lost_," she fumes, tears popping into her eyes, "I hate you, you're stupid!"

She grabs a fistful of my shirt and hits me across the face. Her nails scrape across my skin and I react immediately grabbing her by the wrist. She twists and jerks as she seethes then suddenly takes off running. I'm swept off my feet, and hit the ground hard, landing on my hand. I skid along the concrete for several feet before I manage to sit up. I check everything over cautiously as I keep my senses busy making sure she isn't coming back. My hand bent backwards when I landed on it, but it isn't broken. I can't move it without feeling the intense need to start crying though. I really didn't think she could do that much damage. As soon as I can I get to my feet and prepare myself in case she does return.

I completely bypass Jean's office and take the stairs two at a time until I'm safely in my bathroom with the door locked. I poke my hand. No pain. I poke it again. No pain. I wave my hand all over the place, check my knees for the scrapes I feel, and my face for scratch marks. Nothing. Everything's exactly the way it was. I smile involuntarily and have the sudden urge to jump up and down on my bed and scream. I never pick powers up this well this quickly. This is so cool.

_Ace,_ the Professor's voice seems to echo about the room.

"I know, I know, head to Scott's office."

_No, come to mine. We need to talk._

* * *

I hate feeling like I'm in trouble.

"Does this mean I don't have to have my session later?" I'm definitely in trouble. Xavier doesn't reply, but glowers. "I didn't hit anyone today."

"We're not talking about the fight," he replies gravely.

"_You_ said it was a chemical imbalance," I jump straight into my defense, "a physical thing, something that could be fixed."

"Not _all_ of it, and I also told you that there are medicines that could help. Ace, I warned you against this," his brows furrow, "Logan's ability cannot solve all your problems."

"It solved one," I point out, "An important one."

"You cannot solve everything by collecting these abilities. Are you still capable of giving it up like you did in past?"

"Would the hallucinations return if I did?"

He pauses before answering, "I can't say for sure."

"Then I don't really want to find out."

"Ace, you _must_ let it go," he urges, "this is more dangerous than a few nightmares-"

"I thought I was _insane_. You have no idea what it's been like-"

"Last year was not the first time you met Logan," he places his hands calmly in his lap, "You two met long before and _that_ was when you first copied his ability. I have more ideas than you think and you'd do best to give me a bit more credit in future. Now before you blame Logan for betraying your secrecy, I'd also advise you to give _him_ more credit as well. He's a man of his word, but you're trying him."

There's too much going on in this man's head sometimes. "How long have you known?"

"I inferred it when Logan spoke of you the first time. I knew for certain when I finally met you. May I ask, now, how old you really are?"

"No," my heart's trying to climb out of my throat right now, "I don't ever want to address that here."

"I apologize, I won't ask again. Have you told Logan at least?"

He's trying so hard to get into my head he'll go through others to get there? "No, I have not told Logan, nor did I ever intend to. How often do you two talk about me?"

"What did I just say about giving us more credit? Neither of us, nobody in this whole building is trying to use you, Ace," he chastises, "Just like the medicine, I need to know certain things in order to know how to help you, and yes! You _do_ need help whether you are willing to admit it or not."

This is the harshest he's been with me yet. I grit my teeth, scuff my feet across the floor, fidget, anything to keep my anger in check. He continues,

"I don't go behind your back. I genuinely _want_ to help you towards whatever your goal in life is. But you need to set those goals yourself. Taking the easy way out by using Logan is going to breed more dire problems than you already have."

"Hm," I say with willful disregard. This wasn't a fair fight to begin with, but now that I've evened the scales a little I get chewed out, "I'm sorry about the girl. I riled her up. That wasn't the right way to go."

"I know," he says plainly, "you'll do better next-"

He suddenly furrows his brows and closes his eyes. He rubs his forehead like he has a headache and I feel a sudden spike in the activity of the building. A scattered static enters my brain, the kind I tend to feel right before a hallucination. I close my eyes tightly and put all my concentration into breathing evenly. I can hear Logan shout and Storm hurry down the stairs.

"Ace, you must return to your room and stay there until dinner," I hear Xavier say clearly, "and later on tonight, perhaps after dinner, you will tell Mildred what you told me."

I assume Mildred is the racing girl's name. I open my eyes and see Xavier still sitting there, no hallucinations in sight. He looks at me with confused concern,

"There's nothing to worry about, it's alright. The team is going on a mission, but won't be gone long. _Are_ you alright?"

My head still feels staticky from whatever just happened, but I nod and exit the room.

Motor memory leads me back to my room as I'm too disoriented to have found it any other way. I flop onto the bed belly first and hug the covers until I get my bearings. I've felt that static many times before and it wasn't because of hallucinations. This is not good. I'm already in trouble for one thing.

"You're not going to tell Logan, are you?" I ask the air timorously.

_No, _comes a cottony response, _you are_.

My head aches and the cackling group of girls passing by does not help it.

"Stop eating my _eyeballs_, Tori!"

"Is there still candy corn?"

"But they taste like strawberries!"

"That's sick, teaching little kids that eyeballs taste like strawberries."

"Oh, so it would be better if they tasted like _eyeballs?"_

"Are we allowed to have candy in our dorms?"

"Ha, no!"

I groan into a pillow as my brain clutters up with extra static. There's a brisk tap at the door. I listen for the heartbeat, but the mouth-breathing overpowers it.

"I have a large, sharp stake sitting here with your name on it, Larson!" I holler. Instantly I can hear an eerie organ playing. "Just go away," I moan into my pillow.

"All the teachers are gone!" he shouts through the door.

"They are?" asks an astonished girl.

"Yeah!" Matt reaffirms, quickly distracted.

"Unless all of the teachers are X-Men," I say aloud, "I'm pretty sure-"

"PAARRTY!"

I groan and pull the pillow over my head.

Five hours later the excitement has died down along with the headache. I met with Xavier and Mildred after dinner and apologized. Xavier then asked me to go back to my room while he talked to her. It was obvious then that none of this was about me for once, that she was the troubled one here and I could walk away with a light heart. I also had an honest excuse to avoid Matthew's upcoming Halloween party spectacle. They were setting up the cafeteria when I left and I saw him hanging around the sound booth in the back hopping from foot-to-foot impatiently. By the time I got to my room the sugary, sticky music was already bleeding into the halls.

Now everything is peacefully quiet and I sit up waiting for the sound of the team's bird coming back in. I've been dying to see what she looks like.

It occurs to me now that I didn't even hear her go up she was so quiet. I imagine a strange twist in the wind is her return. I tiptoe out of my room in the dark and slide down banisters until I reach the first floor. Most of the students are already asleep, exhausted from the party, and the staff finished cleaning up half an hour ago and went to bed as well. My bare feet slap against the hardwood as I run to the hidden elevator that leads to the bottom floors. I stop before I reach it, wondering if it would be _too_ forward to actually go down. Maybe I should just wait by the door, hide behind something? No, they'd know I was there. I don't want to go all the way back up though. I just came down here without really thinking it through.

I notice there's a light on in the living room. I can hear a news reporter on the television speaking with that cadence of false interest,

_With Halloween traffic the fire trucks could not make it through. Astonishingly though, as the fire traveled through five buildings_ _not a single one was destroyed, and besides the first, none suffered significant damage. Fire chief Brien Kirkpatrick says nothing like this has ever happened in his entire career. People are already calling it a strange phenomenon while others insist it was nothing short of a miracle. When paramedics made it to the scene very few reported injured…"_

I've walked into the room by now and am standing behind the couch. A redheaded sophomore boy watches the screen with boredom, a half eaten slice of cake sitting on a paper plate next to him. I sense a presence nestled in a corner of the darkened ceiling and look up carefully. Just what I thought, another student up past his bedtime.

"How long before they announce how the fire started?" he asks.

"They won't," replies Redhead flatly, "but if the X-Men stopped it, it was probably a mutant."

Ceiling Boy swells up with pride, "So you think it _was _them, the X-Men?"

A bedraggled woman in nightclothes appears in the camera,

_"This man came into my apartment __and told us we needed to leave_. I was getting my son when the whole building was rocked by this explosion. The man grabbed us and pushed us out the door right when the ceiling fan fell and crushed the playpen. I smelled smoke-"

She was cutoff midsentence and the camera went back to the reporter.

"C'mon!" demands Ceiling Boy, "why do they always do that?"

"Because they don't care what she has to say," I state, "they're just filling up airtime."

"Wait, does that look like Scott?" asks Redhead, squinting. The screen has frozen during video footage from someone's cell phone. A man's silhouette can be seen leading another person out of the blaze of the first building. The man is tall, clearly wearing a strange leather suit like the ones I've seen downstairs, and there's a conspicuous red gleam between his eyes, making him appear like a red-eyed Cyclops.

"It's him!" whispers Ceiling Boy.

Redhead blinks and the video begins playing again. During the shaky footage it suddenly begins raining and later a falling piece of debris seems to stop in midair as Summers' silhouette passes under it and back into the building.

"That's Storm! That's Storm and Dr. Grey!" the boy on the ceiling is practically squealing with excitement. Redhead just shakes his head and I get the impression he's humoring him. I whip my gaze back into the hall as soon as I hear the elevator moving. I don't tell either of the boys, but instead leave the room quietly.

The first to step out is Dr. Grey. She looks absolutely exhausted as she leans on Storm, but there's a joking smile on her face.

"Oh, I'm going to," Storm says determinately. Jean just laughs and Storm smiles. Her white hair is streaked with soot, her face haggard, but her arm firm as she holds Jean up. They both suddenly notice me at once.

"Oh," Storm says quietly to Jean, "should I go back down and get Logan?"

I bristle.

"No, she's fine," Jean says with a grin then raises her voice to indicate she's talking to me now. "What are you doing up then, kid?"

"Watching the news."

"Alright, well don't stay up too late."

As soon as they're gone I slip into the elevator. Downstairs I walk carefully, ready to run back if my nerves decide it. I can hear a shower running and smell smoke faintly all up and down the hall. I skip past the shower room and sprint towards the door I believe leads to the hangar bay. It's code locked of course. I study the keypad, noticing the numbers pressed most. Alright, I can't figure out their order right now, I'll have to come back- I phase through the door like water. I'm on the other side in less than a second, taking in the beauty of the sleek ship in front of me. Sure, there are birds, but then there are _birds_. Jet black with front thrust wings, a peaked bridge, and a grace I can't recall ever seeing before. The lights in the room are dimmed giving her a dull shine.

I walk under her belly and admire her ominous shell until the door slides open. Aggravation walks into the room.

"Ace."

"She's gorgeous."

The aggravation softens, "Ain't she? Heard you got in a scuffle before I left."

"It wasn't a big deal. I didn't throw any punches and I already said sorry. She's really fast, huh?"

"Mildred?"

"Is tha- no, not her."

"Close your eyes." I obey and he flicks the lights on. She looked bigger with them off. "This is our Blackbird."

"Apt. How high- she looks submergible too," I say, interrupting my own question. "Who flies her?"

"We've all had our turns," he answers, "but Cyke seems to handle her best."

"Who? Oh, is that Summers' name?"

"Cyclops, the one-eyed wonder," he says satirically, "You like machines or just ones that fly?"

"I don't really care for either, but I know a pretty thing when I see her," I slap the hull, "I've been around my share of birds though."

He chuckles contentedly and runs a hand through his damp hair, "Yeah. You go to the party?"

"No, I got sent to my room."

"That's a little harsh, I thought you didn't throw any punches?"

"Eh, yeah, I wasn't really looking forward to the party in any case." And, that wasn't really the punishment, "Um, I have to tell you something."

"What's goin' on?"

"Well, it's just," I sigh, "The Professor wants me to-"

"Hey, where's your scar?"

"It's gone. They're all gone."

"All- What did you do?"

"I needed to," I argue taking a quick step back, "it's helping-"

"_No_, Ace. This is the wrong answer, this is- this is _cheating_.Get rid of it _now_."

"I can't, I'm with you all the time-"

"Screw that, get rid of it, I said!"

"It's not- Logan I see you every _day_. I can't just forget it, and I'm not going to! My scars are _gone_. My dreams can't make me run away, I can't hallucinate anymore- I did yesterday, I did it during lunch, but I didn't let on, and now it can't happen again after this, I'm cured."

Logan suddenly grabs me by the shoulders, "Get. Rid. Of. It. You don't know what you're doing you don't know what it's like!"

"You don't know what _my_ life's been like! Logan, I can _breathe_ now!" my voice is rising and I hate how shrill I sound, "I can make everything go away, I just needed this boost. I'll get rid of it when I'm in the clear-"

"Ace, there _is_ no clear!" he shouts, his voice echoing around the underground room, "It sticks with you, it clogs up your subconscious and waits for you, it waits because it knows you can't die now and it never, ever goes away! Do you understand me?"

His eyes are wild and I can't help but think he's overreacting. I get a sudden flashback of standing in that cell and having him tell me to hide under the battered iron door. I didn't listen to him then and nothing horrible happened. Well, okay, but I got us out of the building under my own direction. I've been through oceans of worse things since then. This is nothing.

"Logan, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have copied you without your permission. But I _need_ this. I-I haven't felt this clean in-" I look down at my body, "There were scars on my back too. I had one along the back of my head that wasn't noticeable under my hair and this morning I felt for it and it was gone. Do you know what that feels like, Logan? It feels like being new. And I feel so old."

I'm shivering. I think the room has gotten cooler, or maybe in my agitation I've neglected to keep my own heat in check. My teeth chatter and my hands shake. I can't be getting sick on my first day with this new thing. Logan doesn't let go of me and doesn't look away, his face just falls slowly. It hurts to watch that, but I can't do what he wants.

"Ace, do you know what survivor's guilt is?"

I gulp.

"It's when you realize you're the only person left standing and you weren't even trying. You start to hate yourself for it, for being so lucky, or for not somehow saving them too, or for any number of stupid things to regret. Every year you're still alive it gets heavier on you, and for the rest of your life you will carry all those people around with you because you can't let that guilt go, because you feel like you owe them your suffering. Is that what you want? Because that's what you get when you can't fuckin' die."

I want to scream at him. Really, I could scream, I could scream and rip away from him and scream and end up crying in the corner the way all my nightmares end. No, this is too much, he's right, it makes too much sense. I can't go through this twice. There's a reason he's my only friend.

"I really can't get rid of it if you're always- okay, no, I can, I can try," I have no idea how to lose this power now. I'll have to leave again I'll have to go for a walk to give myself time to lose it. Winter break is coming up I can leave then and come back when the spring semester starts. Until then I have to ignore his ability, and avoid seeing it happen. "It might work."

His whole face is stern and pinched tight with anxiety, "It better. I trusted you more than this."

Back in bed I bury myself under the covers with a sore heart and a knot in my stomach. _You did something stupid_, I tell myself, _and you had this coming_. I press my fists into my eyes until I see bizarre patterns. This isn't fair.


	8. Chapter 8

**There's an X2 novelization by Chris Claremont that I've used as resource material for some parts of this story. In this chapter I refer to a discussion between Bobby Drake and John Allerdyce that took place in the novel, and to the state of mind Rogue described when she "borrowed" Pyro's power.**

The next few weeks are heavy. Xavier and I are back down to one weekly therapy session, Logan has increased the difficulty level in my Danger Room lessons and the other teachers are gradually piling more and more work on us for finals- I haven't been turned out of any of my classes like I'd hoped. In the meantime Matt has gradually become more hostile and I can't help but think it's all because he's still mad at me for turning him in to Summers. He seems to be starting a playlist of music to harass me with. On the way to lunch today I heard this,

"_Don't you know that you're not invited? Don't you know that it's why I'm back here? Backstage! There's no backstage for you, because backstage there's not enough room for you!"_

He looks me right in the eye like Mildred did and smirks. I ignore the music and walk like I hadn't noticed, but he plays it louder the farther I get down the hall.

Something Logan's ability apparently hasn't changed is my overreaction to sudden noises. Thus, I nearly jump out of my skin when Matt's lunch tray slams in front of me onto the table.

"So, when are you going to stop being a jerk and talk to me?" he says taking a chicken strip off my tray, "You never talk to anyone, you're just this little loner person. I only ever see you talking to teachers. Teachers' pet at your last school too?"

Stirring my milk with my straw, I watch him eat the rest of the chicken strips one by one. By the last I think he's forgotten he was doing it to annoy me and is just absentmindedly eating. I keep my irritation unnoticeable and get ready to move to another table.

"If you move I'm just going to follow you there too," he says while he chews.

I stay, "I'm not going to talk to you though."

"Psych! You're talking to me now."

He starts playing an odd little nonsense tune, like he's picking notes out of the air and trying them together. A few of his companions come over and I gladly give up most of the bench for them to distance myself from him. Eventually he forgets I'm there.

Whenever I eat in the cafeteria it's like having a few hundred people all talking into my ears at once. I suppose other people hear only bits and snatches of conversations directly around them, but I hear whole dialogues occurring across the room. Everything overlaps and collects itself into one large, confusing speech, probably like Matt's notes. To me it sounds like,

"Are you done with your- _never_ take that class, I almost died in it. He- the fourth level and there's this giant- cupcakes are better than cookies- think Bree's pretty hot, bro, you should ask- all about? Nobody tells me anythi- don't talk about Fight Club and never- Johnny Depp, Johnny Depp always. Don't even mention Orlando Bloom because I will- so, freaking awesome. That's the car I dream about- it wasn't John. Maybe it was jist an accident, lots of things start fires- llamas can _too_ jump six feet in the air! When was the last time- I get very hyper whenever someone brings up-"

I blur out the majority of the hubbub by tuning in to one conversation.

"Why couldn't it be John? He'd do something awful like that if he didn't have anyone to stop him," it's Bobby, the boy I met on my first day, talking five tables away, "You know how he is!"

His girlfriend Rogue, the power-borrower, replies softly, "Ah know. Ah'm sorry."

"He's worse now, he's with _them_. How can it turn out? He's not coming back now, you were right. You know I actually wondered how long it would be before we saw him on the news? Every time there was a mutant crime on the news he'd watch it like he was watching sports or something and he'd get this look in his eye like it was the best thing ever."

"Wull yeah, cuz that's who he wanted to be. John's a messed up kid and there was nothin' anybody could do about it. Look, ah never told you, but, when ah absorbed his power that one day? Ah got a good inklin' of how things feel to him. Pyro is who he's finally become, there's no Johnny anymore."

"I don't know, I don't want to talk about this, it's just. I'm so _mad_ at him! He can be so…stupid! What if someone had actually gotten hurt that night?"

"Do you _remamber_ the argument you guys were having about what was a worse way to dah? Freezin' or burnin' to death? _You_ were just talkin', _he_ actua'ly lahked the ahdea, he'd actua'ly thought about it."

"What are you talking- no, he was just joking he wasn't-"

"Bobby," she lowers her voice softly, sadly, "When ah had his power _I_ wanted to see what happened when ev'rythin' burned. Ah had to faht it to get us out of there. Honey, ah know he was your friend, ah hate to see you lahke this, but he's always been headed for bayad. It was only a matter of tahme."

"That whole day was horrible…" Bobby says tiredly.

"Ugh, yes, I'll stop talkin'," I can hear the cringe in her voice and the sound of her fiddling with something on her tray. Their conversation relapses into the sea of chatter.

Finished with what was left of my lunch, I get up to leave.

"_There, she, goes. There she goes again."_

Matt plays me away from the table

* * *

Matt's not like the other offenders he's smarter, and therefore doesn't need a physical fight to prove his point. Hitting him wouldn't solve anything because I don't scare him, and I can't see him fighting back. I'd only hurt his pride and that would make him a very different kind of enemy.

I sigh and as the sound hangs in the air I try to catch it like he does. I've been lying on my bed sighing for eight minutes now and I'm getting fed up from the lack of progress. So naturally my heart jumps as a part of the sigh trembles without my direct permission. I sigh louder and try harder and there's a definite bend. Keeping in mind the method I used while it's still fresh, I sigh one more time. It _booms_ within the room and I clap my hands over my ears. They ring for a full minute and the clapping of my hands to my head leaves a minor echo. I brace myself for some teacher to burst into the room and demand to know what's going on, but none does. Carefully, I ease off the bed and am reassured to hear the springs creak with their appropriate volume.

As with all the talents I "borrow", they make me strive to earn them. Everyone else seems to get their powers so naturally and unexpectedly, showing up when they please and causing mischief for their host. With me they seem to know we aren't suited for each other so they strain and drag on their tether, refusing to perform. I've had my whole life to work with these genes, so I generally know how one will behave. By culturing them in this way they develop faster for me in comparison to a natural mutation. It's the difference between a beginner and a seasoned expert, though as exhibited by the _boom_, I have my unpredictable moments as well.

I've also been poring through Professor Xavier's extensive library on the science of human mutation. I've never heard of this theory of evolution before, but I can already see some serious holes in it that they might want to patch up before it becomes law. And whoever made the ambitious decision to rename mutants as their own species has some reworking to do as well. In all the history of recorded mutation never once has it created a new species or even a new relative to an old one. An abnormally large daisy is still a daisy and still a flower. If anything though, human mutants are more like an environmentally corrupted, nine-legged frog than a tampered flower. My classmates tend to identify with the flower of course. Nobody's willing to admit we're all biological screw-ups.

In any case, I've borrowed Matthew's genetic anomaly so I can make fun of him, simple as that. I can't do it anywhere near as well as he can right now, but I don't really have a lot in mind for an ability to play obnoxious music from your head out loud. With all that mutant research I also managed to do a little music research on the side. I've found the perfect song for him.

_You're so vain you prob'ly think this song is about you. You're so vain! I bet you think this song is about you, don't you? Don't you?_

It's playing on the computer, I can't actually mimic it, but as it plays I manage to raise the volume on a few individual words without rendering the whole room deaf. Matt passes by with his sweater tossed over one shoulder and a confused look as he stares at the speakers. He finally notices me out of the corner of his eye. I smile and raise the music a little higher_._

"Way to go vintage," he says with an annoyed tone in his voice as he backs out the door leading to the gardens.

* * *

I slam an armored fist into a Danger Room "wall".

"Who are we not beating up today?" Logan asks in an unsurprised tone.

"Who else? The stuck-up, walking radio," I kick it too, just for good measure.

"Hey! The wall hasn't done anything to you, c'mon," the room shifts, "I've got a new program set up for you. It took a lot of work so I don't want to hear any whining."

Today is my first session in the room on my own. Logan will be overseeing from the control booth. He's gotten used to my strength's and tastes and already has a workout regimen planned for next semester.

"Time."

"Three minutes, fourteen seconds."

I mutter under my breath and keep climbing, keeping an eye on the 40ft marker as I come up on it.

"Don't go past fifty when you get to it just come back down."

I'm climbing an intricate webbing of steel bars, a high-tech jungle gym that appears to travel on forever. Looking up is a hundred times as dizzying as looking down. I fly past forty, stressing out Logan as my bare feet and hands hardly touch metal.

"Okay get down now."

"I'm not at fifty yet."

"I don't want to hafta scrape you off the floor when you fall."

"Joke's on you then," I chuckle quietly to myself as I start to descend.

"Slowly!" he yells over the comm.

I take a three foot drop safely to the ground, "Anything else fun today since you're too chicken to let me climb any higher?"

The room darkens drastically and soon I can't see my own hand in front of my face. But I can hear things _moving_.

"Got it," I whisper quietly, "Don't call you names again."

A creature snarls and I sense movement coming toward me. I step out of its way, take a deep breath and switch to a different setting. My vision alters to take in any stray bit of light, tinting the environment with grays and whites, and my hearing alters to tell me what objects are around me. I appear to be in a desert and am surrounded by wild dogs.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me. I've become a good candidate for a meal as I can hear nine growling stomachs. Time to test Danger.

I growl back at them, deeply, harshly and make myself look bigger. My hairs bristle, eyes narrow, and my thoughts condense into one simple thing, _I'm the alpha._

The arid land I'm in echoes with one sharp bark and all but one of them backs down. I look her in the eye and refuse to back down myself. I don't move toward her, I don't move away from her, and above all I don't blink. My nails turn to claws automatically.

Finally she huffs and decides to ignore me. I sniff and the pack goes back to whatever it was doing before the program started. I clear a place in the dirt and sit down. Danger room animals act like regular animals or least the ones Logan programs do.

The room fades back and I cringe at the light, shading my eyes so they can readjust. Color-sight returns gradually.

"Rule No. 1 of the Danger Room: Don't tick off your controller. 'Specially if it's me"

* * *

I'm retying my hand-me-down sneakers in the control room as Logan shuts down. The stupid things are cheap and loose, the aglets gone completely so I have to retie them every few minutes.

"Don't let that prep get to you, he ain't worth it," he tells me, "I can still scare the crap out of him for you if you want though."

"I'm fine," I reply, pulling my jeans cuffs down over the lips of the shoes, "he's not that big a deal."

"Yeah? Is that why you punched the wall?"

"I just got carried away. Um, hey, that fire in the city, I'm right in thinking you guys stopped that right?"

"Yup."

"Know what started it?"

He sizes me up for a second, "Kids been talkin' 'bout it?"

"I was just wondering myself. If you can't tell me that's fine."

"It was arson. We didn't catch him."

"Anyone we know?" I ask carefully.

"Alright, who've you been listening in on?"

"Like I can help it," I grumble, "Bobby was talking about a friend of his who he thinks might have done it."

"Geez, I forgot about that," he says knowingly as he sits down in the chair opposite me, "Bobby was friends with a kid who could control fire, though I think the fire controls _him _now. He was stubborn, didn't like having anyone tell him what to do, I didn't have high hopes for him when you get right down to it. Yeah, the fire in the city was him, his scent was up and down the backstreet. You won't tell Bobby?"

"Wasn't thinking of it," I'm glad that he'll talk as though I'm one of the adults, "I just wanted to know about the fire."

"Right," he doesn't know what to think of me though, "How's it coming on the whole getting rid of my power deal?"

"Well, I haven't used it for anything today. If I forget about it and don't use it in the next few weeks the neural path should wither away on its own."

"Huh, just like anything? Like muscle atrophy?"

"Yeah. And it'll stay there until I use it again, but if I forget how I'll never use it again."

He goes quiet and his eyes lower, "I don't think it's going to be that easy darlin'."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not something you turn on and off. You can't just tell your body to stop working one day, or forget how to heal. Your body does those things for you, you have no control over it."

I get tight in the chest, "What do you mean, of course I do! I copied it I can get rid of it, it's happened before."

"Have you seen your face?" he asks roughly, "There's not a blemish left of what there was when you arrived. You didn't _tell _it to erase all that did you? Or your scars? You only wanted the hallucinations gone, but it's already been doing things without your control."

I get up out of my seat and head for the door.

"Where're you going? I'm talking to you."

This house is bigger than I thought it was as I try to get to my room quickly. I clamber up the stairs and take the hallway in long strides. There's a small mirror Jean found for my dresser, nearly brand new. I scratch my face up with my normal nails and dare it to stay that way. It heals.

"No!" I scratch it again, rub it raw, rub my whole face raw and red and then dig my fingers into my skin. Don't you dare heal, I threaten myself. Even as I think this the scraped skin refreshes leaving behind all the dead skin I removed. The area around my dug in fingers remains red and distressed and continues to hurt. I leave my fingers there for a second then jerk them away. "Don't even-"

The cuts stay longer, but soon they heal too.

I bend over that mirror for half an hour doing everything I can think of to stop myself from healing. I try to _reverse_ the technique of Logan's that I copied, try to change my genetic structure backwards somehow. To this my body reacts violently, sending a sharp pain all throughout me, doubling me over while letting me know it was the first and last time I'll ever try that.

I grab my pillow and cover my face in it, so I can grind my teeth, scream, smother myself, anything to change the way I feel. Doors in my head swing open, and all those decades weigh down on me at once, bringing me to the floor with my face in a pillow like any stupid crying child. I can't believe I did this to myself. I can't believe it, I can't believe it, I can't believe it…

* * *

"It's the truth, she knew it too."

"There was still hope, she still had _hope_."

"What good is hope?! The sooner she comes to terms with what she's just stepped into the better. She can't live in denial her whole life."

"Logan, you are not comprehending any of the clues she's given us. You know yourself she isn't the correct age, she's not going to take this the same way you think she will, this will only add to her trauma!"

"Whoa, hey, don't act like _I'm _somehow responsible for her ripping off my power! I'm going to help her through it, but don't put the blame on me for this, Prof!"

"Logan, she's been gone for years and suddenly revisits the place her trauma started in. We both know she's already a danger to herself-"

"We don't _know _that, actually, _you_ just decided it from talking to her for ten minutes. That doesn't mean she's actually ever-"

"Logan she revisited the scene of a near death experience by herself with no intention of returning to wherever she might have come from. She has nothing to identify her and she refuses to make friends. Why though has she chosen to talk to you and no one else?"

"Because I was there with her! Joint experience, joint trauma, she's trying to bring back her memories just like I am."

"No, Logan that is decidedly _not_ the point. Yes, she's recalling the trauma at the complex, yes there's a connection with you, but that's not the issue. I've already mentioned to you in past that her condition was aggravated _after_ the event. She's having no trouble recalling things that happened at Alkali, just the fact that she went back of her own will and seemed, as you said it, relaxed shows that she's already come to terms with that portion of her life. She doesn't need to forget it the pain has already subsided. Yet, why would she return now?"

"You're going to tell me so why don't I just sit down-"

"Logan, she talks to you because you can't die," Xavier says plainly. Logan looks at him blankly. Xavier sighs, "She won't talk to any of us, won't get along with her classmates or her teachers because either she doesn't plan on being here long, or she does not see _them_ as being here long. When someone dies within a child's circle of association, to them it's a broken law of the universe. They begin to believe that there are no laws, or that the laws are wrong or erratic, and this leads them into questioning themselves. With children it's troubling, with teenagers it's dangerous. With _mutants_…"

He doesn't have to finish. A number of the students' mutations manifested around the time of a family member's death, fed by the sudden rising of emotions and stress surrounding the event. Some manifestations even left death in their wake.

Logan rubs his eyes, "She only talks to me because I can't die. She knows I can't always be there for her, she knows I'll leave her someday, but she still talks to me because I can't die. Oh, geez."

He's just remembered the talk he gave her on survivor's guilt. He recalls now the hysterical look in her eye as he explained it. "She's lost somebody since she left the facility- oh, geez."

* * *

The Professor has ended our scheduled sessions. He says I should come and talk to him whenever I want to, but for now we both need to knuckle down for finals. This means he has work to do and no spare time, and I get spare time because I have straight A's and no expectations.

I'm in the Danger Room before Logan tonight. I've memorized his entry code and a number of other things on how to control the room. Playing it safe I keep it to the basic environment, no need to get myself banned from the room for being too ambitious. I gave the program a quick look over and have decided Logan is holding me back. There are just far too many fun options I haven't messed with yet.

Logan arrives, but doesn't comment.

"There's a combat mode," I mention casually. Logan snorts, I scowl, "I can do it."

"I know you can do it," he replies, "I just don't think you should be encouraged to be _combatant_."

"You mean the Professor doesn't think that."

"Hey!" he barks, "The Professor-"

"Knows everything, yeah, I get it."

"Don't interrupt me. Look, I'm sorry what I said the other night. You've still got a chance to nip this thing in the bud. You did it when you were little after all."

"I know, but I did some thinking and realized it's actually too late. I might still be able to 'nip it in the bud', but it's going to be exhausting. The neural path was already there and I just reanimated it, so it's back with full force now. Plus, things work differently when you get older."

"I think combat sessions would be good for you," he says suddenly, "I think it _would_ keep you from fighting with other kids, be useful as an outlet. That's what I use it for. Or hell, not even combat just some old-fashioned scrapping, doesn't even have to be fancy."

"Scrapping," I muse, "I've never been in a scrap, but I've seen plenty of 'em. A bar fight would be an example of scrapping, right?"

"Sure," he gives the kind of grin that gets mostly lost in his sideburns, "I'm gonna go up and program your first scrap, kid.

Logan set up one of his easier fights: a medium-sized room with two hostile figures trying simply to kill you. Once again he didn't warn me when it was starting, but it was a good call, made me test my instincts. I play defense for the first five minutes, then slide between one figure's legs and jab an elbow into the back of his knee. In the same movement I hook his ankle with my foot, bringing him down. The other figure is behind me and I duck to the side quickly, rolling away as he brings his interlocked fists down on the other figure's back, knocking him flat and just missing my head. I shoot my foot out and get the second figure in the ear with my heel. After several more minutes, I have two unconscious figures lying on the floor. They dissipate as the room returns to normal.

"Who the hell taught you how to fight?!" Logan yells over the comm.

I'm laughing breathlessly in harsh little huffs of air, "I haven't had that much fun since I got here."

"Xavier's going to yell at me for putting you in that situation, so you better not have an episode."

"I learned how to fight when I was ten," I say, "So, was that it, can I have another?"

"Eh, sure why not?"

The room ripples again. I love this place.

* * *

"So, who trains a ten-year-old how to take people down?"

I purse my lips, "You killed people."

"I know," Logan cuts the end off a cigar, "As I remember you killed some too."

I'm alarmed until I vaguely recall picking up a gun at the facility and firing it, "I forgot about that. They taught me how to do that, I never wanted to do that."

His emotions twist and turn, "It's alright to not like killing."

"I didn't want to, but they made me angry. It felt better that way, but it…scared me. I was good at it and I don't remember being good at it before. I didn't want to ever hurt anyone."

He smiles and claps me on the back, "Good for you, kid. Keep up that thinking. Doesn't matter how good you are at something if it's going to hurt someone, least of all yourself."

His last statement puzzles me, but I push it aside. We part ways at the first floor. The moon follows me along the windowed corridors, prepared to oversee my eternity. This awkward, slow-growing body has held me back for so many years I understand keenly how lengthy and arduous life can be. If I have to live the next century going through puberty I may just go insane. However, if current trends hold, that is if Logan is the kind of man I think he is, then at least I'll have him to talk me through it. At least.

**How was Rogue's accent? Too much? Got any other opinions?**


	9. Chapter 9

November caught up fast. Before the first day of Thanksgiving break most of the students have already left to be with their families. Just as I was finally getting used to all these clamoring monkeys they packed up and abandoned ship amidst hugs and cheery farewells. From my window I watched the last bus leave for the airport and the last car full of seniors head off for vacation. I wonder if maybe I'm supposed to be somewhere too, if perhaps the school closes during breaks and everyone goes home. Nobody warned me.

I walk out of my room and down the stairs just to check, and I see students in their weekend clothes scurrying up and down the halls pinning up paper turkeys and arranging cornhusks on mantelpieces and coffee tables. Anticipation is laced throughout the building in a way that feels warm and comfortable. I even find Summers and Dr. Grey laughing quietly together the way two fifteen year olds do when they're getting into trouble.

Piotr smiles broadly at me as he carries two massive pumpkins into the main kitchen, "_Пироги_."

I smile and nod, having no idea what he said, but he believes I'm a fluent speaker, so I might as well keep up appearances until I am.

That's when I realize how many of my classmates don't have homes to go to. Too many to count, but there is certainly more air to breathe. Over the next couple of days the school takes on a very different feel. Teachers are more relaxed and informal, chatting with students, telling jokes, and being friendly. Nobody is worrying over schoolwork or walking to and from class. Instead most are spending time outdoors in the last few days of warm weather, or in the lounges watching television and playing games.

As for me, I now have the whole library to myself. I empty the reference shelves, race through the history, science, and sociology sections. There's too much I don't know! In my mind maps are laid out, and territories are marked. Plants are identified and animals placed in ecosystems. Battles are recorded and casualties tallied. Infirmities and diseases are categorized with medicines, poisons, and remedies alongside. I catalog everything in my head; put it somewhere easy to reach, someplace I already have a file prepared. Then I get to the small, freshly dusted file on mutation.

It's always been there, this minute collection of unrelated evidence I've gathered in hopes of figuring myself out some day. Anyone strange or gifted was tucked into the file, but always felt like forced pieces in the wrong puzzle. Now, I've been throwing things out and refreshing the file, yet I still don't know any more about myself than I did before. To be honest I'm not even convinced I _am _a mutant, and the more I research the less I seem to fit the criteria. I think about Logan's metal skeleton and his claws, and have to shake the creeping feeling off my skin. _What if something like that was done to you to _make_ you different?_

* * *

One evening I gradually look up from my books to notice the hallway traffic all headed in one direction and wearing…party dresses. Curious and stupid, I stick my head out to see what's going on. Apparently, _today _is Thanksgiving and for those of us still here a dinner and dance has been arranged. Much to my surprise and dismay Logan seems to think a dance is exactly what I need as he roots me out of the library and herds me into the auditorium where I'm one of exactly three girls not dressed for the occasion.

"I don't even _own_ a dress!"

"Go on," he pushes me toward the room, "you need to make some friends your own age."

"I'm not my own age," I remind him, "and I've always hated kids my age anyway."

There's emphasis on each word as he says, "Go make friends."

"It doesn't work that way!"

"Yeah, well don't say I didn't try."

"See? You don't believe it either!" I shout to his retreating back. I can't help but think Dr. Grey had some input here because this is a startling development on his part.

I circle around the room to the food, take a little of everything, then pick the most out of the way table I can find. I'm somewhat startled, then irritated when I notice my plate is clean and I still need more. I never ate that much in past. There's an extra curse on Logan's ability, it's increased my metabolism two-fold; what filled me up before is more of an appetizer now. I begrudgingly finish my second plate and head for the exit, but Logan's standing there talking to Storm. I feel like a hostage. There's another door open that leads to a balcony. I head out into the cool night air to get away from the rising heat of the auditorium as students start dancing and laughing loudly and the music gets feverish. Again, I find the darkest corner to hide in, leaning over the railing and looking down telling myself, _I can make that drop_, _there's a trellis not three feet away, maybe I could scale that and-_

"BOO!"

I heard someone coming but with all the noise inside I couldn't tell who it was. The Armani gives me a hint now.

"I don't know if you've noticed," Matt says, "but there's no party out here."

There's a giggle and I know he has a girl with him.

"I wouldn't be out here if there were," I reply.

"No, I'm pretty sure there's no party out here because _you're _out here." That merits a peal of laughter from the wispy brunette on his arm.

"Hey," I point at her, "that's not Lyndsay. What happened, did you two break up?"

"Lyndsay? Ha!" she gives me a sardonic smile before sneering at Matt, "Really?"

"Oh, Lyndsay and I were never a thing, Mandy, we just-" but she's already turned away in a huff. His voice groans with frustrated disbelief, "_Why _would you _do_ that?"

"I'm not the one trying to balance several relationships in the same _boarding _school. You shot yourself in the foot with that one."

"Lyndsay's with her _family_. I've been flirting with Mandy all week and now I don't have a date! Geez, why do you screw everything up?!"

"You know, you think you'd learn, but for some reason you just keep pestering me and bad things keep happening."

"You keep doing them on purpose!" He groans and bounds back inside to find Mandy. How has most of the week gone by without me noticing he's _still_ _here?_ I suppose with my reading and his flirting we've managed to avoid each other, though this really puts a damper on the rest of my weekend.

I lean over the railing again and continue my examination of the trellis and any other escape route I can fathom. The ivy itself is too weak, but I think the parent vine is around here somewhere and if I take my shoes off I can shimmy down that and onto the school grounds. Whatever choice I make should be speedy as my refuge out on the balcony is starting to get a little crowded.

Couples have filtered off the dance floor and are cuddling on benches and talking with elbows rested on the railing. The cooler air gives boys the opportunity to take off their sweaters and place them over pretty shoulders, the dark an opportunity to whisper cute, useless things to each other. I lean further over the railing in vain as I try to block out their sappy statements. Matt reappears and leans beside me on the railing.

"Okay, look. I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"Don't start that."

"Start what?"

"Start charming me so you can get an easy date."

"I'm not trying to charm-"

"It's all you know how to do therefore I can't imagine it requires any effort. I bet nothing in your life does."

"What does _that _mean?"

"Shouldn't you be schmoozing some bimbo somewhere? Honestly, you're lowering your chances of getting one just by talking to me."

"What do you know about my life?" he demands indignantly, "Fine, you know what, the hell with you. I was just trying to be friendly."

"You don't know how; in fact, do you even _have_ any real friends? You've been here longer than me and so far the only person I see with you on a regular basis is the kid that floats and he doesn't like you very much, he just hangs around for your leftovers."

Matthew sort of stares at me with his mouth open as if I'm some strange creature that just transformed in front of him. I don't care what he thinks, I'm not letting this _kid_ treat me like entertainment by believing a few choice words will make me blush and carry his books for him. He doesn't understand the physical or the logical aspects of a fight, he's all talk, words are his ammo and now he's losing.

"You are the most annoying, stuck-up, jerk," I tell him quietly, "You don't like me you just try to use me like you do all girls. I don't want to talk to you, be near you, or hear one of your stupid renditions ever again. Leave me alone."

I turn my back on him and stare out into the dark again. The moon is on the other side of the house and has left me on my own tonight. I wait and I wait, but he stands behind me for an infuriatingly long time. In an inaudible whisper I hear, "What have you got to lose?"

I turn to face whatever annoyance he's concocted now, prepared to win this last battle, when he leans in and kisses me on the lips.

He's nursing his jaw and laughing before my mind even registers hitting him. My cheeks burn and I don't relax my fists. He's trying to speak, but can't seem to manage the words through his laughter. I'm not going to stand here and take this.

"Wait, wait, please," he stutters out between gasps for air, "don't go just yet."

"You planning on laughing some more?"

"No, sorry, really…I was aiming for your cheek, thought it'd perk you up. Look," he puts out a hand to prevent any further attacks, "you're right. Being charming is all I know how to be-"

"And being conceited," I note how he picked the more flattering of the characteristics.

"Yeah…and that, uncalled for I think? Anyway I like you in a not like-like way, just, you're cool, y'know?"

I don't believe him for a second. This is a new tactic, flattery in a different way, but still in his favor, "You kissed me,"

"Yeah, but-"

"Why?"

"Well, you punched me, so it was a test. I had no idea what was going on in your head, so…that was just a check. I don't want you to hate me, I'm just not so sure how to fix that, so…I improvised," he gives a defeated sigh, "Does any of that make sense?"

In a bizarre way, it does.

* * *

"It's a holiday, what are you doing here and not at home with your family?" I ask.

We're sitting at a plastic covered table eating pumpkin pie. I'd never had it until tonight, so he felt the need to introduce me to it. His is buried under a mountain of whipped cream that he keeps refreshing. I have a feeling he's never going to get to the pie.

"Oh, it's a long story, but the basic is," he sucks whipped cream off his thumb, "my mom and dad wanted to go to Europe for the holiday- not for a vacation, my dad never vacations- and felt it would be _too much_ of a hassle to bring me along. So, I'm here. They try to do this every year ever since you-know-what."

I think about what 'you-know-what' could mean, but after a few seconds I've hit a wall, "Since what?"

"You know," he takes a drink of milk, "when they found out I was a mutant."

I bite my tongue with one of my sharpest teeth by accident, "Oh, right."

"Anyway, it'd be really lame at home on the holidays anyway. They'd invite a whole bunch of old people I don't know, everyone'd get drunk, and I'd be bored out of my mind."

He pushes aside his now naked pie and slaps his knees, "Okay, I need to dance, c'mon."

"What? No, go ask someone who actually wants to dance with you."

"I, well, yeah, but-" he makes a few more incoherent noises as he surveys the room, "There's no one here I like."

"What about her?" I point.

He slams my hand back down on the table, "Don't _point_ at her."

"You should be grateful you didn't lose an arm just then, _bub_." He draws his hand back quickly. "Just go ask her," I tell him, "I don't even know how to dance, and I don't think being seen dancing with me will do you any favors."

"Of course it will, they'll be wildly jealous and be lining up to dance with me."

"The _ego_ on you; that will most definitely _not_ be what happens."

"C'mon!" he whines, "I wanna dance!"

"Go for it."

He pops out of his seat and puts his hand out to me, "No one studies during break except you and it's driving me nuts. All I'm asking is that you get up and do what you're supposed to do over break. _Have fun_. Also, newsflash, none of these people can dance either. You'll blend in perfectly."

I pass an eye over the cluster of kids on the floor and have to admit he's right. I sigh and get up, ignoring his hand. The beat changes as the two of us step up to the edge of the crowd.

* * *

We're on the dance floor for a full hour without a break except to throw off my heavy shoes and my sweater. The floor reverberates with the beat, thudding in my chest like an extra heart. Matt is exhausted and he laughs and laughs when I finally out-dance him. I know I must be making a fool of myself out here, but man it feels good. No one notices us; we blend into the group and just let the music lead us wherever it wants. Not a single tangible thought crosses my mind except to briefly register how blindly happy everyone is. We're all uncalled for, unwanted, and yet a little bit of pie and some loud music are enough to make us forget and just be one and the same for a night.

My feet are numb when I finally stop, my legs jittery. I feel like I'm gliding, like the floor is moving too fast for me as I walk back to the table.

"Oh _man_, are they playing _nineties_ now?" Matt yells, "And _you _are a liar." He points a finger at me, "You said you couldn't dance!"

"I can't!" I sit down next to him and grab the closest drink.

"Well, maybe everyone else was so bad they made you _look_ good. You nearly killed me out there!" The tone in his voice and the laughter in his eyes correlate. He's being genuine, he's laughing at me, but not to make fun of me. I laugh back, laugh into my plastic cup of cider.

"Hey, hey," he leans over and taps me on the arm, "when the music gets better, you want to go out again? I think I can take it now."

"You can't take this."

"OOOHH," he shouts, "you're getting _good_ at this!"

I laugh into the cup again. He licks the frosting clean off a cupcake then leaves the cake on a plate, "More cider?"

I nod. He leaves and I see him look furtively about the refreshment table before taking the whole jug and walking back as casually as possible.

_Lost and found, city bound in my dreams. And screaming, 'Are we, we are. Are we, we are the waiting?' And screaming, 'Are we, we are. Are we, we are the waiting?' _

He sees me laughing and starts to swagger, throwing the jug over his shoulder like a sweater and putting his hand on his hip.

"You're an idiot," I say flatly.

"Thank you," he smiles before filling my cup and then drinking straight out of the jug.

"You're also gross," I add.

"We're going to be the greatest best friends ever."

I shake my head at him, "That is the worst idea in history."

"No, The Macarena was the worst idea in history, but once it became an actual thing it was awesome. Some of the worst ideas have become awesome things, Ace."

Well, that's a start. He's remembered my name.

* * *

_5 Weeks Later_

Logan and I argued a bit over the practicalities of my winter excursion, but then I went anyway. I did very little walking and caught a bus whenever I could, spending most of my traveling in warmer areas. In my heavy coat that he lent me I appeared older, a student taking a trip home for the holidays. People didn't mind me and with a pair of headphones lent to me by Matt, no one talked to me either.

There was little hope of losing Logan's ability when I started out, and in the end I retained it. It was good to get out of the mansion though. I enjoy traveling like I enjoy the library, there's so much to learn. So, when I ran into my first natural human since arriving at the school and noticed how different she smelled I was elated. It was like that with every human I met, they literally have a scent different from mutants. With this new bit of information in mind I spent the rest of the trip keeping an eye out for other mutants. I was surprised how many I did find; at least one in every dozen people. From observing within the school and now out in the real world I've concluded that once you've seen one mutant, you've seen one mutant. No two are exactly alike.

I _did _happen tofind another telekine like Jean Grey. He was cocky for sure as he reached his hand out slowly and lifted a newspaper from across the aisle and floated it towards him. I caught it all in the window's reflection so when he did happen to glance at me I appeared to be watching the scenery. While a telekine, his technique was different than hers, focusing more on the strength of his arm than on the object itself as she does, thus his ability lacked the precise fluidity of Jean's.

Now the gravel crunches under my feet as I walk up the driveway, the gates having opened upon my arrival, Xavier's greeting. I break into a run just for the heck of it, and fly up the drive. I mean to enter through the mudroom like Bobby and I did that first day, but the front door opens and I divert my course. Storm steps out with a set of keys, unsuspecting, and gives a surprised shout as I burst past her into the mansion.

"Nice to see you _too_," she says after me.

I rush up the stairs, past a baffled student and hurry to my bedroom. I swing open the door and immediately step on something that cracks. I jump off of it and look down. It's a CD in a jewel case, and it's not alone. My only guess is that Matt has been shoving CD's under my door the whole time I've been gone. I can't understand for the life of me _why_ until I remember how appalled he was at my limited musical knowledge at the dance.

I gather them up and stack them neatly on the dresser before dropping my backpack to the floor and shoving my bedraggled boots off my feet.

"Hey!" barks Logan in his usual gruff and irritated manner.

I turn around, immediately embarrassed, "It didn't work."

"Yeah, I figured as much. Trip alright?"

"Yes. I never realized how many mutants are out _there_."

"Oh, you can smell the difference now, eh?"

"Yes. I met this woman-"

"I don't care. Tell it to Charlie if it's important," and he heads off in a hurry. I wait and after a short while I hear the sound of the Blackbird rising from her subterranean nest.

I stand still for a moment resettling into my surroundings. The room smells like fabric softener, and the CD's bring in a different scent, a plastic and cologne scent. I check the boxy handwriting on the cases. Two have a complete playlist written out on them in red marker, while another is simply titled 'Remixes'. Then there's one whole CD labeled 'Cobra Starship' with exclamation points under the words. Is there any possible way I can avoid listening to any of this?

"Have you listened to them yet?" says the blonde head that's just popped around the corner.

"I can't, I don't have a stereo. Sorry."

"That's cool, we can listen to 'um some other time," he saunters into the room and sits down on my bed, "So, have you heard about Jason?"

"I just got back, Matt, and I don't know any Jason's."

"He's in our chem. lab he's the one with the dorky red backpack. Anyway, he's had this thing for Mallory for, like, a month…"

I start unpacking while he talks, deciding there's nothing wrong with him settling in like this, but he better not get used to it. He updates me on all the gossip of the past several weeks, telling me everyone's misfortunes and heartbreaks and who passed what class and who went where over break without him, and of course, who he kissed under the mistletoe and at the moment the ball dropped at Times Square.

He's lying on the bed, still talking when the lunch bell sounds, and then he continues talking the whole way there. Finally around the middle of the meal he takes a handful of soybeans off my tray and asks how my trip was.

"Fine."

"Aw, c'mon. Something had to happen that was more than 'fine'. _Ack,_ what _are_ these?"

"Soybeans?"

"I thought they were green M&M's," he makes a face and pours them back onto my tray, "I suppose I should've questioned the idea of them serving M&M's in the kitchen, huh?"

"And that all of them would be green," I say slowly.

"Nah, I just thought you were weird like that," he nods casually at the rest of the cafeteria, "A lot of them have dietary restrictions and things because of their mutation. I just thought it was something like that."

"A dietary restriction that states I can only eat _green-_"

"Okay, I _get_ it! Shut up," he directs his attention back toward his own food and is quiet for about a minute before saying, "No really, how was your trip? Because _nothing_ happened here."


	10. Chapter 10

I wake up before the alarm. It's early dawn and the sun has yet to rise leaving the room in cool grays and blues. There's a cold sweat sticking me paralyzed to the sheets, barely breathing, with a tight cramp in my middle. I take the whole room in at once, ready to leap out of bed in an instant, but it's just the mansion. I'm in my dorm in the mansion. I don't want to move, the understanding that I'm safe in the mansion not computing. I feel like I've been lying like this for hours, but when I finally get up the nerve to glance at the clock, it's only been three minutes. I still don't want to move.

My heart beats in a frozen safe, so dull and caged that when I try to listen for it I feel only half alive. I go through the breakfast line as an automaton, and there's a blank space in my memory where I somehow make it to a table. I've been staring at my food for twenty seconds when Matt waves a hand in front of my gaze.

"_Helloo_. You cool, man?" he snaps the wrapper off a straw.

I blink and snatch up my fork with one jerky movement, taking a stab at a gooey waffle. It's paste in my mouth, but I swallow it down. My body is instinctively feeding itself, ignoring whatever's wrong with my brain as it fills its present needs. Matt holds back from his usual food-theft with a little temerity.

"Sooo, how'd you sleep?" he asks strangely. I glance up at him from under my eyebrows. He sucks his lips in, "Okay." We return to our food. "Hey, at least that one chick isn't waking us up anymore, huh? That was…you. I'll shut up now."

I lower my eyes again. "Kissed anything lately?"

"Well now that you mention it," he pipes, released from his reluctant silence, "there's this girl Sarah, and she really…"

So is this what it's going to be like? Nightmares come and terrorize me, but I'm not allowed to remember them in the morning? Is that something the healing can't fix? Granted, I didn't leave my room, but I've never felt that-that-

"Um, Ace?"

I wake up. The room is bright, the sun is up, the cafeteria's emptying out, and my stomach is content. Matt's face is concerned, his right pinkie finger tapping nervously against the table. I catch a glimpse of the girl he was talking about lingering under the archway, looking over now and then as if by accident.

"She's waiting for you," I say.

He indiscreetly glances over his shoulder then turns back just as quickly with a hidden smile. "I'll see you in chem?"

"Algebra."

"Right, algebra," and he's off. I pick up my tray and notice he's left his behind. I mean to call after him, but he's already catching up to a deliberately slow paced Sarah. I take both our trays away. He'll remember tomorrow.

I don't tell anyone about the dream. I figure if it came to me quietly then I get to keep it like that. Besides, I'm still enjoying this freedom from Xavier and his pressing interrogations. As we roll into February, the nightmares reoccur as often as they ever did, but I don't wake up in fear again and they only consume a few minutes of dreamtime making them kindly forgettable.

Matt persists in being my friend. Having charmed a used stereo from its previous owner he presents it to me with a flourish.

"This is an early- or late- birthday present. Happy Not-Your-Birthday!"

"Oh, thanks," I look around my dorm to make sure there isn't room for a stereo and confirm that there's plenty of room, "but uh, yeah, I don't have a birthday."

"Seriously? So the rumors are- ah, I mean, no kidding? Well, it's your birthday now, on the…_something_ of February. Yay, you're seventeen!"

"Fifteen."

He stares at me for a moment, then puts the stereo down gently on the painfully bare dresser, "Whatever little baby person, I thought you were a junior."

We spend the next two days listening to his music in my room while he talks and I do my homework that I know now he will be copying on a regular basis. When he gets tired of the music we walk around the school, or go sit at the "popular" fountain while he plays renditions of other music he wants me to hear.

When he gets bored with that, he messes with other sounds, like dropping gravel into the fountain and accentuating the _plop_. At first I think he might be showing off just to impress me, but after a while I notice sound manipulation is just as natural to him as brushing lint off his shirt or combing his hair. I'm reminded of the mutants I met outside the school and how nervous they became when their mutation appeared unexpectedly or when they simply _felt_ it would. I realize Matt oozes utter self-confidence, but this isn't behavior he'd exhibit in the real world. That is if I'm giving him enough credit.

"Apparently," says Matt as he forks my pasta, "there's a _new_ new-kid here. You're officially not a new-kid anymore."

I tap his fork away with mine and gesture to his plate, "I'm so relieved. Does that mean I'm not 'cool' anymore?"

"Haley says he's got horns and black eyes," he continues, "but Haley's dumb; but Mike says he can see through walls."

I scrape up the last of my pasta and quietly add, "I heard he has orange scales."

"Yeah, I did too, but I think that's bogus. Maybe he can play drums, then we could start a band, I bet he plays drums."

"He doesn't play drums, Kimi says he plays guitar though."

"Nuh-uh, really?" Matt wants to play guitar, "We can jam!"

"I'm kidding, Kimi and I don't talk. I've only heard the orange scales thing and that's it. Oh, and he's a sophomore."

"I heard he's from Long Island," Matt says ruefully, "God, I hope I don't know him. I bet he's from Jersey."

"Do you know people from New Jersey?"

"Ew, no. I know people from Long Island."

"What's wrong with New Jersey?"

"Um, hello, it's New Jersey, that's what's wrong with it. I better not know this guy."

"Long Island's not that small- we don't even _know _he's from Long Island, where'd you hear that?"

"From Bobby," he chuckles as he gets up, "That guy's a crack-up."

"Hey!" I jab a finger at his tray, "I'm not cleaning up after you forever."

He rolls his eyes and picks it up, "_Anyway_. Guitar Hero, tonight, you're coming- Don't say 'can't', you're coming, I don't wanna hear it."

"Then we better finish our homework _before_ then, right? 'We' as in_ you too_."

He waves me away. Outside there's a good four inches of snow, but he'd still go sit by the fountain if I let him. We're heading for the library when Matt steps into a bathroom, "Wait for me."

I lean against the wall by the door. I can hear him singing in there. I cross the hall and lean against the opposite wall instead. As usual there are students milling about, but very few. I'm surprised to feel the static again and I shake my head to get rid of it.

"You," a boy about my height is staring at me stormily, "Why can't I hear you?"

"I'm sorry? What do you m-"

"Sh!" he walks toward me with his head inclined to the side like he's listening for something obscure.

"If you have sensitive hearing my friend has a weird affect on sound. That might be what you're experiencing," I tell him.

He ignores me, clenches his jaw then looks me keenly in the eye. "Think of a number."

"Oh please."

"Think of a number," he demands. After a second has passed he stares at me in mortification, "Did you think it?"

"Yes."

"Do it again."

"It won't make much difference, I'm doing it on purpose."  
"Doing what on purpose?"

"Are you a telepath?" He nods. "Then I'm blocking you out, sorry."

The bathroom door swings open, "Ready? Oh hey!" Matt beams, putting his hand out to the boy, "I'm Matt. You're new right?"

The kid shrinks from his gesture and scowls as he walks away. I smack Matt, "Don't _ask_ people that!"

"Well, he's the new kid!"

"That doesn't change it, don't single him out like that. Nobody enjoys that."

"'Nobody enjoys that,'" he mocks, "Wow, he didn't look a thing like I imagined."

"Yes, and apparently he can read minds, so quit thinking about him."

* * *

The television screen snaps to life, lights and colors everywhere. Outside, flecks of snow tumble past the windows in the dark. Matt sets the remote down on a coffee table and steps back, shouldering the fake electric guitar, "It's pretty easy to start with, you just press the buttons when they show up in the little box."

The screaming of crowds of fans fills in the background noise of the game as ringing rock music thrums.

"No, not that one," Matt complains quietly as he changes the song setting. A loud, florid pop song bubbles out of the speakers. The music gets louder and I can tell he's increasing the volume on his own. "Aw, yeah, I love this one!"

"Hey, Sonic the Hedgehog," snaps a burly older student, "Turn it down!"

Another kid lifts his nose out of his textbook, "Sonic the Hedgehog had super-speed he couldn't control sound!"

"Was I asking _you_, numbnuts? Shut up,"

"Don't talk to him like that!" snaps the girl seated with the studying boy.

"I can talk to him any way I want, gonna stop me?" challenges the burly kid.

Her lips begin moving angrily, but there's no sound coming out. I look at Burly and he's up on his feet, doing the same thing. I watch them fight inaudibly like this for a minute, then punch Matt in the arm. He grins and the music gets a little louder, "I told you, this is a good song."

A quarter of the way through the game his cell phone rings, "Be right back!" He vaults over the couch to get it.

I sit down and balance the guitar on my knees. I don't know why we're friends. I think the simplest reason is that he just won't give me another option. It's weird him being so outgoing and likeable, but not actually having anyone to hang out with. He still has companions in his other classes, but in his spare time he only ever hangs out with me and they never join us. Whenever we're about between bells people are always stopping to chat. Everyone is all smiles and jokes with Matt meanwhile I'm just that shadow that sticks beside him. No one notices me with him around and I enjoy it. I'm closer to people, I can watch them, hear them talk, find out what they're all like through him.

"Look!" he jumps over the sofa and crash lands next to me, "Sarah texted me!"

"What does that even mean?"

"Well, I was…going to ask you. It means she likes me, right?"

"No, what does _texting_ mean?"

"You don't know what texting is? It's this thing cell phone company's came out with where you can just write a short note to someone instead of calling them. Look what she wrote,"

"I don't care, Matt."

"That's a heart right, when it's the little less than sign and a three? She's totally into me," he smirks and starts typing his reply.

I think about asking him why he only hangs out with me, but there's a number of reasons why that might be cloying. We'll just see how long this lasts.

* * *

Summers has created a few full-blown danger scenarios for me in preparation for next fall when he plans on adding me into an actual team session. Apparently Logan's put in a good word for me and is going along this, saying he's been "babysitting long enough". I've got the whole summer to decide if I'm going to hate it, but he's signing me up either way. So far I have two choices; prepare a willful standoff so I don't have to join, or find a way to accept my fate and look forward to the class. I'm going with stubborn and willful at the moment. Place your bets accordingly.

I duck a blow from a virtual enemy. These are more detailed than the assailants in my first Danger Room fight. In this scenario they wear nondescript uniforms, they are all around 6 feet tall, and their skin and features appear Caucasian. Their faces however, are hard to focus on, making it impossible to recognize them. I lash the edge of my hand into his throat, and smash his kneecap with my boot. He crumples with a chillingly life-like shout of pain and fades from the program.

"Get _up_ here!" Logan shouts. He's in the scenario with me as my team member, standing on a hill waving me up impatiently. As I'm running up the slope, a spray of dirt flies high above him. I can only imagine the chaos on the other side of the mound as I can hear things whizzing through the air. Once I'm over the hill he begins heading down casually. "You know what to do."

"What's that?" I ask as I slide down after him. Quickly, I roll into the cover of a large concrete block as something flies toward me and explodes the ground I was just standing upon.

"Follow instinct," he says as he takes out a cigar. I move away from the concrete and head for the meager shelter he's found behind a stone column, but he's already moving forward. I follow his footsteps in the dust until we hear gunfire and then the two of us dodge in opposite directions. I can see him behind a squat concrete cylinder as I brace against a thin metal wall only an inch taller than I am.

"Instinct requires cigars?" I shout. I register a raised eyebrow before a small projectile hurtles into my path. Reflexively, I throw up my hand. The projectile darts off in another direction and buries itself in a heap of rubble. Logan and I look at each other in astonishment.

"You're picking up powers faster than you're saying!" he accuses.

"I didn't pick that one!"

Another missile is coming our way, "Ace!"

I aim, focusing completely on the missile like Jean would. It wobbles as it speeds down toward us, but doesn't stop. It hits the ground in a shockwave of debris and detonates.

For a moment I'm lying in the dirt, ears ringing, the wind knocked out of me and a searing pain in my head. I feel like I did in bed this morning, gravity pinning me to this one spot leaving me catatonic, dry mouthed, and sweating. Sound comes back to me slowly, the hazy world around me stops spinning in time for me to realize the pain in my head isn't from the blast, but from the telekinesis. I think I may have ruptured something.

"Get up!" Logan is jogging off without me.

I struggle to my feet, feeling a slight pain all along the side of my body exposed to the blast, but it's dull and fading. As soon as I've caught up to Logan a sizeable adversary leaps into our shared space. Logan dispenses of him immediately. I note the force he applies to a blow, the speed of a takedown and the part each muscle in his body plays in one hit alone. It all etches into my mind and stands at the ready.

We are attacked throughout the session. I lower numbers for him, fighting one-on-one as I know how. Unfortunately I find myself spending most of my time avoiding _his _swings and am forced to rethink my footwork, incorporating him in the dance. After the fifth onslaught I'm more or less in the flow of things. By the seventh I'm assured that there can be just as much grace in a scrapper as there is in an artist.

"You're too elegant in it," he says later in the staff kitchen, "I can't un-train you of that."

"Well, you tried," I say with a grin as we clink glasses. Session's over for the day, we've wiped away whatever blood one can acquire from a virtual scrap, and I'm about to have my first taste of whiskey.

Logan watches me none too proudly and asks, "Should I be doing this?"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you. You just put me through a warzone and you're not even going to let me have a drink?"

He laughs, letting it out of its trap deep down in his chest, "Well, at least with the healing you're not going to get drunk."

"Aw crap, I forgot about that," I say disappointedly.

"That," he says pointing a finger at me, "is not reassuring. Also, that's the first almost profane thing I've ever heard you say. "

"Is that bad? I could just say 'poop' all the time it'd basically be the same thing,"

"Don't start saying that, it is _not_ the same thing,"

"Poop, poop, poop,"

"Get away from me…That wasn't funny!" he complains as I spit up my first taste of whiskey from laughing. The burn was far more than I'd bargained for and I love it. It left a flaming rage down my throat, burned past my lungs and lit up my whole chest, settling with a sizzle in my stomach and a pungent swell in my nostrils. Oddly enough he doesn't appreciate how fast I go for another drink. "Relax, you've got to let it sit for a minute or you'll knock yourself out,"

"That's the _point_ isn't it?" I take a shaking breath as my body and mind recover from that beautiful blast. He takes the bottle back,

"Yeah, well I've only got so much. Everyone's up in arms about me having it around at all. You really need to find your own friends; you're turning out too much like me."

"I'm getting there," I say, "and I have telekinesis now I can just _take_ the bottle away from you."

"Do that and I knock you out faster than another whiskey will."

I blink at him then _jerk_ the bottle towards me out of his hand. It hurtles toward my face at the same time as his chair back hits the floor. I physically catch the bottle in midair right before it hits me. To avoid the incoming swat, I try to duck, but accidentally phase instead. I land on my butt with my top half sticking out through the seat of the chair. Thankfully I don't solidify. Actually, would Logan's power protect me from dying like that? Eh, I don't want to find out. He growls and I jump away quickly, popping the lid off the bottle and bringing it to my lips, but he grabs it and blocks me from reaching for it as I struggle. "Not so graceful now are you, brat?"

I sink my teeth into his arm as he is setting down the bottle. He snarls and unfortunately extends his claws. The bottle gets slivered and the precious liquid gushes over the edge of the table and onto the floor.

"I'm scalpin' you next time," he idly threatens as I suck alcohol off the broken glass and contemplate the puddle on the floor, "you better not turn into an alcoholic after this."

"Is anything better than whiskey?" I ask rhetorically as I watch cuts on my hands heal.

"Too late."

"Hey, you said I'm turning out like you,"

"I don't count," he pulls a thin shard of glass out of the back of his hand, "You got through that okay. Do we need to talk about the telekinesis?"

I shake my head, "It wasn't intentional. I just wasn't paying attention, no big deal. I'll be more careful though."

"M'kay," he gestures to the mess, "start cleanin', I'll get a broom and a cloth."

I bend down and start gathering the bigger pieces of glass. My head buzzes with static. I jerk away and hit my head against the edge of the table. That brings back the pain of whatever I strained when I tried to stop the missile. I sit back and hold my head in my hands as the static fizzles away again gradually.

"Is the Professor talking to you?" I mumble.

"No," Logan sets the broom against the table and drops something that clatters onto the floor. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say quickly. "I just, hit my head on the table. That's all."

"Then why'd you ask about-"

"No reason. Did you find a dustpan?"

He looks at me soberly and nods at it. We clean up the mess in silence.


	11. Chapter 11

There's an unusual noise downstairs. I open my eyes and listen carefully. It doesn't repeat itself, but I hear what sounds like nails running across the wood. I dismiss it as one of the nocturnal students and try to fall back asleep. The strange sound reoccurs and I hear the light _thud_ of a person landing on the ground after a jump. They don't sound like any student I'm familiar with and I'm curious now anyway.

I get out of bed, unable to fall asleep until my nerves are settled. At the foot of the stairs I sniff the air and snort. Whoever the stranger is they leave an awful scent. I follow the trail carefully, sticking to the shadows all down the hall. The noise of the TV in the lounge at the other end of the hall hums pleasantly and I try to discern what kind of program it is. I'm almost to the little kitchen when I bump into something soft.

_"Meine güte!"_

I jump back and hold in a startled hiss as the shadows suddenly _move _and form in the center of the hallway.

_"Verzeih mir,_ I did not mean to startle you!" worries the dark figure in front of me, holding out his hands apologetically. "I am a friend, a friend of your teachers'. I meant to come during the day," he looks around, "but my plane was delayed and I had nowhere to spend the evening. Are any of your teachers awake?"

I still can't clearly tell him apart from the shadows, and he _is _here awfully late, but everything he's saying sounds true. He feels embarrassed, and besides he seems kind. "No, but I can wake one up for you. The Professor may already know you are here."

"_Danke Süße. _But I wouldn't want to trouble anyone."

"Were they expecting you? I really can wake someone up."

"No, no, no, it's too late in the night, I'd be disturbing them," he looks past me to the dimly lit living room where the usual night-owls are watching TV, "maybe if I find a quiet corner I can see them in the morning, yes?"

I shrug and open my mouth to reply, but a movement behind him makes me tense up until I notice it's a tail. He is a friend indeed. There's a sound on the stairs. "Ms. Munroe's coming down; she'll take care of you."

I walk the way I came with the stranger in tow, his feet making odd noises on the floor, and I assume he has large toenails to account for the light clicking I heard earlier. Storm's pale hair glows in a halo of the light from the room beyond as she walks toward us just as regally as ever even at this hour. Her voice has a smile in it.

"Kurt! Why didn't you tell us you were coming?" she stops walking and the man called Kurt steps bashfully around me.

"I am sorry, the trip was sudden and I could not get to a phone. Also, I wanted to surprise you. I did not mean to come at night though."

She makes an affectionate sound and takes him in a hug, "You are always welcome here at any time. Come, I'm sure there's a room for you. Do you have things?"

His tail curves forward brushing me gently as he reveals a large cloth bag hooked by its strap. She taps me on the arm, and the three of us head up the stairs, he taking them two at a time yet lagging in order to stay near her. I walk behind them, yawning, as they make small chitchat. Apparently he met the X-Men a year ago during a business trip from Germany gone awry. He eventually returned to his job in a traveling circus, but is on leave for a month as the owners work out a few accounting issues. Storm seems very pleased that he's here and assures him he has been missed.

They both wish me goodnight, as we part for separate dormitories. Kurt takes my hand in his and thanks me for my kindness, even though I really didn't do anything. He's gentle in the way he moves, his awkward feet and tail only inhibited in their grace by the vertical posture of walking he does not seem accustomed to. Even though he's walking alongside a close friend he seems content to stay in the shadows and not be in anyone's way. Add this to his quiet demeanor and obvious respect towards Storm and you've got a person I like very much. Kurt the meek and rather stinky, welcome home.

* * *

Apparently a number of the students know Kurt- or the "Incredible Nightcrawler" as he continuously reminds us- because he's been besieged with their attention all day. In the daylight I can see why he clung so comfortably to the shadows. His skin is indigo and embroidered with tattoos, his eyes a fierce yellow, and overall his appearance is more gargoyle than human. He should be terrifying, yet he has the most armless smile. I could be biased since he has teeth sharper than mine, but I doubt he'd hurt a fly.

Matt is moping in the kitchen after classes. It's my fault, I made him do homework and now someone else has the game system. He slouches on a barstool,

"Sonic's a cool name."

"What? Sonic."

"Yeah…oh, what?"

"No," I chuckle, "I can't call you Sonic."

He clicks his tongue, "Why not? Everyone else has cool names by now except me_._"

"Sure, whatever, Sonic-buddy."

He cringes, "No, no don't add buddy at the end, that's stupid."

I throw a peanut at him, "Right, _that's_ the part that's stupid, Son-"

He throws a peanut at me, I throw another one back. He tries to take the bag, I try to wrestle it away from him. We play tug-of-war until I hear a student in the hall say, "Hey, Mr. Summers?" I let go of the bag.

Nuts fly everywhere, bouncing off cabinets and skittering across the kitchen floor. We look at each other, baffled. I don't wait for Summers to come in and investigate, I run for the back door and since I'm already closer I manage to phase through it before Matt's even a foot away from the bar. I hear Summers step into the kitchen, and skip quickly away from the door, cackling quietly to myself at the idea of Matt having to clean up his own mess.

When I feel I'm at a safe enough distance, I sit down by a stubbly flower garden. The sun will set in half an hour or so and take the temperature with it. For now, some of the younger students are playing tag in the yard and keep tripping over piles of crusty snow. I countdown the seconds before Matt gives up on cleaning the mess to come find me.

Then I sense _him_ near me. He's come around the corner from the south wing and has stopped, silently watching me. It's Vincent, the new kid, the one Matt immediately offended. His heart's beating slow and heavy, and I'm sure the expression on his face is brooding and dour as usual. There's resentment written all over that boy. Static fills my head. I look over my shoulder at him and he stares boldly back. I've seen that expression before and can't look at him. I get up to walk away and the static increases. I wince inwardly and shoot him a look. He knows something has hurt me. A familiar wind tousles his hair as he continues his scrutiny, his eyes burning through my skin, groping for something to twinge, to scratch at. I don't give him what he's looking for. Better to be a blank slate than show any of your cards.

Someone smacks my shoulder and I spin around and hiss at them. Matt sucks in his breath and steps back. I snap at him, "Don't jump at me like that, I could've hurt you."

"I thought you could hear me coming," he says apologetically scratching the back of his head. I look back over my shoulder, but the new kid is pretending he's no longer interested. He may not be able to get into my head, but I'm not so sure about Matt's.

"Let's go," I say. Matt spins on one heel and we head down to the fountain.

* * *

Every girl looks over her shoulder at that blonde guy, and a few call out to him coyly while their friends giggle. He shouts back, winks, then continues teasing the only girl he's ever seen with, stealing her food, flirting. Together those two would stand out anywhere. He's a sunny summer day, and she's overcast without any real chance of rain. He's got the face of a movie star, and she's wiry and flat-chested with painfully straight hair hanging past her elbows. Her secondhand clothes are all in earth-tones while he wears fresh, lace-up Vans and gel in his hair. Vincent hates guys like him.

The girl is more of a freak than he is, and that's saying something. Vincent almost wishes he had orange scales like everyone's been saying behind his back because maybe then they'd leave him the hell alone. The Professor keeps trying to help him concentrate. _How can I fucking concentrate in a place like this?_

It's an unusually warm day for the end of February, so everyone is outdoors, enjoying it while it lasts. Students are talking and talking and talking, and above all, thinking. Thousands of sentences are uttered voicelessly every minute, every second it seems. Vincent tries to tune them out, tries to focus on his own thoughts like the Professor taught him, instead of on this migraine. _If only they'd all just shut up!_

He slams his fist against a cement retaining wall. _They just think and think and think, constantly talking to themselves people never stop talking to themselves!_ He tries again to focus and for a brief moment the mental din clears. _I__ hate all of them_.

The prep is laughing out loud as the freak-girl smacks him playfully on the shoulder, a rather uncommon smile on her plain face. It fades quickly though, and the annoying jerk next to her keeps talking, his thoughts garbled and staticky sounding from over here. As always, she is silent.

The hubbub of thoughts continues clamoring over his shoulder as Vincent walks down the path. Passing by their bench, he spits on the prep's shoes, and continues walking. The guy yells, but Vincent knows he won't get up. Guys like him never follow up. He might mess up his hair or wrinkle his eighty dollar polo shirt. How do guys like that even survive in the real world? What happens when Daddy stops paying their way through life? Vincent smirks as he heads onto an empty path across the lawn. His brows furrow as he hears footsteps coming up stiffly behind him.

Something hits him from behind, harder than he could've expected, and he falls to the pavement. He sits up cringing as he rubs his scraped chin. He turns over and sees it wasn't the prep that hit him. It's her, she's knocked him down. She stands there looking him over as if scanning a new life form. Unexpectedly, she smiles as if there was something hysterical about him lying there, and offers him a hand. He scowls and stands up on his own.

Vincent's the kid from _that_ part of town. He's the one the court willingly dragged over here, too tired to deal with mutant pests. The other kids all whisper about him in the hallways, imagining in their heads what kind of freak he must be. She's crazy, has to be.

The girl raises an eyebrow and backs off slowly, but he's not letting her get away that easy. Vincent could fight better than anyone in the borough and from experience he knows better than to let a girl think she's won. In every fight, he took note of his opponent's weaknesses, which moves they favored, and turned them against themselves, mimicking their moves and exposing their weak points. People never changed, but eventually learned not to fight him twice.

Things aren't the same with this chick. A small crowd forms as his swings strike thin air. Her movements become less and less predictable. After a while he notices she's _letting _him copy her, only to change her tactic suddenly at the last second. Flushed with anger and humiliation, he steps out of her way, lets her swing miss this time. He's ready to knock her down when there's a surprising crack across the back of his neck and a kick to the back of his knees. Before he knows it he's on his hands and knees waiting for the knife that should surely follow, but she's already stepped back. It's over.

He raises himself off the ground and stares at this freak, strains to hear what she's thinking because if there's any hidden judgment he wishes to hear it's in the only mind he can't get into. And there's nothing. She's an abyss, a smiling, empty abyss.

* * *

The person sitting on the bench and the one who knocked Vincent down were not the same being. I don't know why that is, but I can't doubt the feeling. I didn't want to fight him. For once a scuffle didn't make me feel I had something to prove. We all do stupid things to prove ourselves, and Vincent had done it.

He won't walk away, not while this crowd is here. He looks furious, his face flushed, his breathing harsh and shuddering as he clenches his teeth. A kid like that has been fighting for a long time and he's not going to wear out that quickly. Something else is pressuring him.

"Everybody back off!" I shout, and a few people repeat the command and step back a few paces. I stay where I am. The static fizzles in my head, but it recedes as the crowd does. I doubt that's much relief for him though. His fists clench in an effort to keep them from clutching his head, or possibly hitting someone standing by.

"Alright!" booms Piotr, "Give them space. Logan is on his way, so everyone go!"

At the mention of Logan everyone scatters. Piotr comes and stands between the two of us, measuring up the situation. I feel his slight confusion as he cautiously asks, "There still a problem?"

Vincent and I glance at each other. "No."

Piotr's not convinced, and has us sit down on a bench until Logan arrives. Surprisingly, Matt hangs around. He's uncomfortable and fidgety, but he gets up the nerve to sit down between Vincent and I. He nudges my knee with his,

"You're the fighting girl too? Man, how long have you been here without me noticing?"

"Logan's gonna kill me." I lean forward and look at Vincent, "Hey. I'm sorry." He gives me a weary look in reply. "I mean it."

"Didn't say you didn't," he mutters, "Does that guy ever stop playing crappy music in his head? Because it's getting annoying."

"Don't start again," I warn as Matt bristles. I poke him in the arm, "C'mon, show me some text Sarah sent you or something."

Piotr clears his throat and we look up to see Logan coming down the path, cigar puffing away between his lips.

"Go find something to do, Larson," he orders. Matt gives me a consolatory look and leaves. I sit up straight and try not to look at Vincent. Logan stops between us with his hands on his hips and has a short dialogue with Piotr before dismissing him. "Ace, what started it?"

"He spat at Matthew."

Vincent scoffs. Logan looks back and forth between us. "What?"

"Larson, he spat on his shoes. I followed him here and knocked him down."

Logan looks at me in consternation then at Vincent, trying to figure this out, "Fine, detention Saturday for both of you. Ace, no Danger Room 'til Monday. Detmer."

"Yeah, I got it," snaps Vincent glaring up at Logan.

"Let's hope so. Stay away from each other until then, or I'll think up something special," he looks at me and jerks his head toward the building, "Get up there."

Logan doesn't speak a word to Vincent while I'm in earshot. I find Matt at our table, talking to some other kid. I sit down, he nods at me, and continues talking. Their conversation ends and he turns to me, "What's up?"

"Detention."

"Well, they let you do homework in there, and that's all you do on Saturdays _anyway."_

I smirk, "Don't let Vincent get to you."

He snorts, "Yeah right. Funny though, we were right about one thing. He is from Long Island, just the wrong end."

"I assumed as much," I agree, "Life's tougher there."

"Life's tough when you make it tough. If you go around pissing people off like that things are bound to get nasty. You kicked his ass, thanks for that."

"You're welcome, now will you quit swearing because as I've stated before, it sounds ridiculous coming from you."

He throws a soybean at me and I grab a handful in return.


	12. Chapter 12

Detention is held in a tight, stuffy sitting room at the back of the building. Its two windows reveal a shady and rarely visited part of the grounds that touches the edge of the forest. A teacher I'm not familiar with is here to monitor the classroom from his desk at the front, poring over the details of a lesson plan as the minutes tick by. The three other offenders sentenced here with us are either inconspicuously texting, or snoring.

Vincent is tapping his fingers against his desktop, ignoring the bent and dog-eared notebook in front of him. I unwisely finished my weekend homework yesterday and thought I might just brush up on the history notes to fill in the time. Instead the margins of my paper gently fill with chaotic and ungifted doodles. Gradually they get worse until I just allow the pen to listlessly trail down to the bottom of the page.

Vincent shuffles quietly as he leans across the desk separating us, "Why'd you say you were sorry?"

"Because I wanted to," I shoot a quick glance at our monitor.

"What for? It was a good fight."

I study him for a moment, "How well can you read thoughts?"

"I can't really," he admits, "I can only hear them, sometimes just parts of them." He gulps. Talking like this is making him nervous, "I can't hear yours at all."

"Is that good?"

"It's freaky."

"Okay," I laugh a little, "I said sorry because I felt sorry. Sorry you don't like Matt, sorry I attacked you, sorry it was miserable."

"Well, only one of those things is your fault," he says, attempting a smile.

"He's not that bad," I defend, "he has flaws, but he's not stupid or mean."

"Yeah, but he's still a player isn't he? I mean, how can you take him seriously?"

"I didn't for the first few months I knew him, but that was just because I didn't know him well enough."

"But why are you friends with- No, bigger question, and it's gonna make me sound like an ass, but why is he friends with _you_?"

"I don't know, really. All I know is he wouldn't be if we were normal and out in the real world. This place isn't like any I've ever been. Nobody's afraid of you, Vincent, not here."

He seems taken aback, "I don't know your name, how do you know mine?"

"We have history and P.E. together. My name's Ace."

"Hi, Ace," he boldly stretches his arm over the desk to shake my hand, "thanks for a good fight. Sorry I got a headache halfway through."

"It was a good fight," I affirm as I shake his hand, "I wanted to tell you that earlier. Sorry it was so miserable, that crowd might've been my fault. This wasn't exactly my first offence of that kind on campus. Just curious, but when there are too many people around does it feel like your head is filled with static?"

"Kinda, yeah," he says with a surprised tone, "It feels like sticking cotton swabs in your ears and twisting them around."  
Oh my god, "Do you sometimes hear them say two things at once when they're talking?"

"Yeah, yeah, sometimes it'll get really strong and I can hear tons of things from one person. I mean, they'll be talking out loud, but then-"

"-you'll hear what they're really thinking at the same time."

"Yes!" he leans toward me, "and it's the creepiest thing like having demons talk to you or someone else you can't see. It's weird cuz with some people what they're thinking in their head makes more sense than what they're actually saying."

"Or they're just insane."

He laughs out loud now, causing the teacher to look up, "Yep! Sometimes the bum on the corner really is just retarded," he shrugs, "But sometimes he's a cop too. So it's not all bad hearing things."

"Do you ever see images?"

"Of?"

"Of what people are thinking? Maybe they aren't thinking in words, but pictures, you know, remembering things?"

As he thinks his brows lower, returning his face to its usual dour look, "No, I don't think so. I hardly ever hear memories, only what people are thinking now," he hesitates, "Do you?"

"Every once in a while," I say with a deep breath.

"Are you a psychic?"

"No. I thought I was just crazy, but some of them, the images, are definitely memories."

"You only get them when you're around other people, right? And that's when you feel the static?" I nod, and he nods back, "Nothing about you seems crazy, I mean, I can't hear your thoughts, but I _have _known some actual crazy people."

"I believe you," I smile. He smiles back, a surprisingly sweet, boyish smile that lights up every corner of his face and makes his hazel eyes change color. You wouldn't expect a smile like that from a person like him. "I said sorry because I saw one of your memories and I don't think it was a good one."

The smile disappears. I scared it away.

After the final awkward minutes of detention have passed, I mean to go looking for Matt, but Logan calls me into the kitchen. He's indulging himself in one of his occasional beer rests and I can tell by his attitude that it's been a rough day. I think the team may have been called away during the night, but it must not have been anything newsworthy because I still haven't heard about it. He gives me a nonchalant look that we both know I can see right through, "So. Matt?"

"We've already been friends for a few months, Logan."

"I noticed, but you never told me what was going on."

"Well, we're friends now. That's it."

"He's not still hassling you?"

"He does, but he means no harm, he's just a jerk. Can I go now?"

He waves me away and goes back to his drink.

The next day I hang around nervously after English until all the other students have left. Since my talk with Vincent I've been itching to get a few things straight and I'm hoping the Professor can help.

"What can I help you with, Ace?" he asks kindly even though he's clearly busy.

"I've been…noticing something lately, er, noticing it more. It's this, static, feeling when I'm around other people. Now and then I see or hear something I shouldn't have," I check his expression to see if it's changed any, "It started when I was ten or eleven, anyway, another student and I were talking and from what they said and the things I've experienced, I think I might, possibly, have run across a telepath in my youth and…picked up a few things."

His brows furrow, "I thought you had to study an ability and mature it to use it?"

"Yeah, so did I," I reply sinking into my chair, "but I guess that's why it's taken so long to develop, it, it's still sporadic. It went away for a number of years, and I only noticed it again once when you called the team for a mission."

"Yes, I remember, you were in the room. I feared you might have been seeing another hallucination."

"Yes, I thought that too. So, you're assuming telepathy? I thought you might know."

"Well, Ace, everyone's abilities develop differently. What one telepath experienced may not be what another does. 'Static' isn't an uncommon term used for the sensation a telepath feels when they encounter the brain activity of another person."

"Vincent likened it to cotton swabs in one's ears."

"Vincent? He talked to you?" there's surprise in his voice.

"Yes? We, uh, got into a fight Thursday, so we were talking in detention when it came up. I doubt it'll happen again."

"I see," I'm sure he's aware of the skirmish. Not all fights on campus are mine, but they don't happen very often either, "and did the talking help?"

"I suppose. I was just worried about it and wanted your say."

"Well, I trust you to know what to do if difficulties arise, but please come to me if you have any other questions. Is there anything else you'd like to ask me right now?"

"When you were growing up with it, were you ever scared by any of the things you discovered when you heard people's thoughts?"

"Yes," he answers bluntly.

"Because the first time it happened it was because a person was lying. After that I was constantly hearing lies, secrets and hidden agendas from people who didn't seem like they would have any, people I was taught to trust. I thought I was evil, always hearing and seeing awful things about good people. I never told anybody, even if my suspicions came out to be true, I never warned anyone. I trusted adults to know better than me then, but of course they weren't seeing what I saw…" I've chewed my nail down to the nub. There's a stiff heat in my bones as events come back to me, and I sit there staring at the floor, frustrated, "That's all I wanted to talk about."

* * *

It's supposed to snow tomorrow, but for now the weather is tolerable. Matt's asked me to wait for him while he retrieves a few things from his room, so I'm sitting alone at a chilly patio table during lunch break. I don't know why everyone loves snow weather. I prefer my overcast, blustery days that lead to a thunderstorm, though hopefully for me I can go back to enjoying them the way they were.

Logan's more cautious about me these days ever since the accidental telekinesis. Not that he's treating me any different than before, but he always seems wary of me like he's concerned I might let a power slip. I'm getting used to it, since I can't always be the troubled child. I might just be trouble. The Professor, however, shows me no such partiality. I haven't honed in on what finally convinced him I could handle myself, but he's letting me get right to it and refrains from interfering. I've found a comforting and secure niche between Logan's alertness and Xavier's trust and it's calmed my nerves considerably. For instance, it's been a full two weeks since I felt any static, or had another bad dream.

Some discomforting things, however, are unpreventable. Matt has officially adopted the name Sonic and within a day of this decision was fortunately redubbed Sonus, which is a little _less_ ridiculous if that's possible. Like he said though, he's not alone. Many of the kids go under their assumed names instead of their legal ones, which must be why "Ace" didn't draw much attention. Still, I've shortened his new name down to Son just to irritate him.

Vincent's walking up the patio towards me. Lately he tends to appear right out in the open where I can see him instead of his usual haunt somewhere in my peripheral vision. However, we've been actively avoiding each other, so this is an awkward and unexpected occurrence. He stops uncertainly, starts forward again then stops again. Finally he comes within a few feet of me and disinterestedly says, "Hey."

"Hey," I reply. I'm trying to learn how to be friendlier, but Matt says I'm still no good at it, "You want to sit down?"

He hesitates before accepting the offer. Scooting uncomfortably into the metal seat, he takes a covert look around to see if anyone noticed. I used to do that.

"What's up?"

"Not much. Did anyone ever make you apologize to Matt?"

"No," he answers defiantly, "What are you his watch dog?"

I am so good at making friends, "Alright, back up, I didn't say that to upset you. I got lectured about the whole thing and was just wondering if you got the same."

"Yeah, mutton-chops chewed me out, happy?"

"Don't call him that."

"Sure, but I'm pretty sure you don't have the right to order me around."

"I was giving you advice not an order, but if you want a premature funeral, go for it. Just don't call him names around me at least."

"Why? You _like _him? Huh."

"What?" I scowl.

"Nothing, it just sounds like everyone likes 'sunglasses' better. All the girls do at least," he smirks, "although Redhead likes both."

"They have names, Vincent."

"Yeah, I ain't gonna be here long enough for it to matter, so let's not worry about that, huh?"

"And she's a far better psychic than you are so whatever _you _think she can hear. I wouldn't cross her either."

"Whoa, I thought you said you hadn't been here that long and now you're defending these guys? Seriously, they're just yuppie teachers, okay, I'm not going to hurt their feelings."

I grit my teeth, "You know how I _almost_ completely kicked your butt the other day when you offended my friend? Keep this up and I'll annihilate you, creep."

"Big words for a girl with a boyfriend who hits on every girl that passes by."

"Son's _not_ my boyfriend."

"You've seriously even got a pet name for him."

"It's not a pet name, he's chosen a name; Sonus."

"Jeez, that's stupid. Why does everyone have to pick a retarded name? I mean, what, they're like gang names. No wonder people are scared of mutants."

"Who named you Vincent?"

"My parents," he tugs on a hoodie string.

"Do you like that name?"

"Well some people want to like their name and some people are proud of what they are, so they change their names on their own."

"You are incredibly defensive you know that? You think _Ace_ was a good choice? Or did your parents name you that when they were hung over?"

"That's it, I tried. Go away." I say firmly.

"I'm not trying to fight with you, I'm just wondering why you're questioning my name, so I'm questioning yours," he stands up, "Tell _Son, _or whatever his name is, that I don't apologize because he's a stuck-up douchebag."

"I know both of you and out of the two _you _actually fit that description better."

"Of course you side with your boyfriend."

"He's not my-!" I groan, "Forget it just leave."

He sighs in annoyance, "Whatever," and stalks away.

I feel stupid for what just happened. I know Vincent's type too well. They don't listen, they're stuck in their own angers and want the rest of the world to be just as angry, want to dominate it with their fears, want it to fight them back. _You're incredibly defensive, you know that? _He attacked my friend, my teachers, my classmates, and finally me. The kid's trying to find a breach, trying to get in my head. I don't need his help to be angry I can be angry on my own no one has to tell me how to be angry or how not to be no one can control me like that!

I drop the pencil before I snap it in two, just as Matt jogs over to the table. I put on my calmest face as he sits down.

"I ran into Maritza on the way back, and, _man_, can that girl _talk_," he rolls his eyes. As he goes into the details of everything, I find myself going back over everything Vince said, coming up with things I should've said, and mostly just stewing over it all. It doesn't even matter what his memory was about, the one I accidentally saw, I refuse to feel pity for him.

"…and of course _that _was weird. Anyway, I'm probably going to be here for Spring Break too. I still want to dance with you though."

"What?" I snap out of my mental argument.

"At the Spring Fling. She'll probably get ticked off, but then she's going back to her boyfriend in Seattle, so it really doesn't make much difference. You 'kay? You seem moody."

The fifth period bell rings, "No I'm fine."

"Cool. See you in Study Hall."

There's a shriek somewhere nearby and I feel fear levels suddenly spike in the group of students behind me. Son and I jump to our feet, he away from the trouble and I toward it. As I get closer to the crowd forming I try to recall what words might've been said, searching through the conversations I was blocking out, but still heard. Before I get to the source, however, tensions have lowered, people slacken and gradually wander away. A boy is sitting on the ground, looking a little dazed and holding his head. His friends stop to help him up and carry his books, and things return to normal.

"I think it was just a power slip." I tell Son. He brushes the news off, these things happen pretty often. Yesterday a different boy was balancing on a retaining wall, but when he jumped down he left a massive crack in the concrete; and two days before _him_ a girl in the library sneezed and for a few seconds her skin glowed a brilliant, neon green.

"Man, when I first got here I was a mess," Son tells me as we walk to class, "Sometimes my voice was so quiet no one knew what I was saying. I had to write down what I was trying to say for a whole three days one time. The rest of the time I had to walk quietly and put stuff down quietly because if I dropped a pin in a _noisy _room everyone would cover their ears."

"That's sad, I didn't know that."

"It _was_ sad. I couldn't get dates, I never wanted to leave my room, so I just sat in there listening to music with headphones so I couldn't accidentally turn it up too high. Actually, now that I think about it there was a high risk of my accidentally going deaf. Huh. In any case, Summers figured out I could control my powers better when sounds were musical, so he took me to the music room and had me practice on all the instruments, and I eventually got better at it. Now I'm _awesome _and chicks dig me."

I shake my head and laugh at him as he swings open the door to my history class. "Yeah, you're really something, Matt."

"_Sonus_."

"Fine, Son."

"You're a jerk," he says with his signature grin, "Later."

As the door closes behind me he waves and I wave back. Someone lets out an exasperated breath that they're trying to keep quiet, but I know who it is. I walk past Vincent's desk and give him a look to show him I don't care. As we briefly make eye contact a static shock passes between us and we both cringe simultaneously. He sort of leans back and looks at me in confusion and I must look the same. I hurry to my seat and try to forget it happened.

* * *

_"Wir werden Sie, Herr Wagner vermissen."_

Kurt bows his head and lets a smile crinkle the dark edges of his eyes, _"Und ich werde euch alle vermissen zu. Halten Deutsch üben Sie, also wenn ich dich sehen wir wieder sprechen können." _Practice your German so when I come back we can talk.

"I will," I nod.

"Alright, quit bothering him, he's gonna miss his flight," Logan announces as he spins a set of car keys around his finger, "C'mon, Elf."

Kurt gives a few last hugs and well wishes to the staff and students in the foyer before leaving with Logan for the airport.

I jog back to the lounge where I left Son. There's a music video playing on the television and I weave through the crowd of kids to pull him down off the coffee table before a teacher catches him. He's in one of his moods where everything's funny, and collapses onto a sofa laughing breathlessly.

_We drank champagne and we danced all night_

_We shook the paparazzi for a big surprise. _

The couches are crowded so I find an out of the way place to lean while people dance and start pillow fights, and girls giggle at Son's jokes until he finds one to kiss amidst the fervor.

_Sweet talkin', sugar-coated, candyman_

_Sweet talkin', sugar-coated, candyman!_

I take it all in, enjoying how little anyone cares about how stupid they look while they're having fun. Someone hands me a tub of Red Vines and I take one and pass it to the next kid, ducking as a throw pillow smacks into the wall above me followed by raucous laughter and a whoop of triumph from the guy for whom it was meant. In the moment, I throw the pillow at Son and hit him in the side of the head while he smooches on Sarah. The music trembles unexpectedly and everyone looks at him, but he remains blissfully unaware of anything at all as he runs his fingers through a mess of blonde curls.


	13. Chapter 13

"Everybody smile!"

Bobby, Rogue, and two of their classmates grin cheesily into the camera, flipping tassels out of their faces, graduation caps akimbo.

"Alright," Jean chuckles as she hands the camera back and the four graduates scamper off across the grass.

"Yeah, that'll work," she hears Logan say, "Someone's gonna knock that over, move it."

"How's it coming along?" Jean asks.

Logan gives the volunteers another apprehensive look, "Who voted for fireworks again?"

"The seniors. They almost always pick fireworks," she observes his face carefully, looking for something, "How're you?"

He raises an eyebrow nonchalantly, "It's weird meeting everyone's parents. And not meeting them."

Jean lets out a deep sigh, "It never gets less weird, that's for sure. They don't really make it easy on you."

He grunts in agreement, "How's Rogue seem to you?"

There it is, "Happy."

"Yeah," he says distantly, "and Bobby?"

"He's handling it well, but I don't know for how long. Logan, she's fine. She knows her parents better than we do."

"It's not fine, it's wrong. What kind of parent doesn't show up? They should be here for them- Ace!" Ace is sitting at a concrete bench not a hundred feet away and at the sound of her name turns her head expectantly. "Move on!"

Her shoulders slump guiltily as she moves around the corner of the building and out of earshot. Jean gives him a perplexed look, "You don't need to yell at her it isn't her fault."

"It wouldn't be if she weren't trying. She gets this intent look when she's listening in on something."

"Ah, yes she doesn't have that look in class much. That must be why I'm not familiar with it," Jean smirks, "You were saying?"

"Nah, it'll still be bugging me later we can talk then. I just don't want Rogue to hurt."

"Well, I think she can take care of herself pretty well. Got into college on her own didn't she? And dragging Bobby in after her, I think she'll be alright," she nudges him with her elbow, "Besides, if Rogue feels comfortable leaving _you _I think that says something. You can't stop her from growing up, Logan."

He smiles gently, "Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

I can't hang out with Son. Apparently this is his last chance to kiss a certain senior girl, and I really don't want to be present when that backfires. After all, she has a boyfriend who can melt things with his mind. I don't know about the unwritten laws of high school, but anyone could tell you that that's not a line you want to cross.

Speaking of which, Logan does not appreciate it when people listen in on his conversations with "Jean". I wasn't trying to, they just happened to be within my range and I was bored. He didn't have to yell.

It's not much more interesting on this side of the house. It's discomforting being around the parents and relatives of my classmates. Some of them are obviously mutants as well, but the human parents stand out. They've for the most part segregated themselves onto one side of the lawn and are watching the rest of us suspiciously as they urge their children to hurry up with the goodbyes so they might leave quickly.

I climb through the forest of folding chairs to get away from them all and make it to the other side of the lawn before I realize I've caused a problem for myself. Now I'm just further away from the mansion. I could've gone back inside. Son dragged me out here and then dumped me as soon as what's-her-name with the boyfriend passed by. All I did was sit down to wait for him when Logan yelled at me and told me to move it, so now I'm stuck over here with these jerks, and I'll have to cross through the minefield of ignorant parents to get back. I'll just wait over here until they're gone.

Oh, what are these? Long, brightly packaged fireworks are neatly stacked in a corner of the yard. I saw a few magnificent ones at New Years and I'd love to watch one go up in person. These are all small, though, nowhere near that caliber. I assume because of the forest surrounding us on all sides it pays to be careful with these things. Still, the mansion has acres of empty land to set them off on. I pick up a blue one, inspect the candy-wrapper packaging and imagine the beauty on the inside. I could look through the packaging at the materials inside, but I don't want to ruin it. I hope whoever sets them off will let me sit by and watch.

* * *

"No, Bobby," Rogue has a pleading edge to her voice.

The blonde young man tugs at her hand like a begging child, "C'mon, it'll be fun! Senior pranks are always fun."

"Yer gonna get in trouble, and please, is thayat the best prank you kin come up with?"

"No," he chuckles, "but it'll be funny. Back me up!"

She just rolls her eyes and shakes her head, "Honestly, Bobby."

"Alright, well, I'm gonna go do it. Anybody wants to join me come right on ahead."

The rest of the small group wasn't listening to begin with, so Bobby trots off alone. He moves to the far right of the seating area, away from the human family members, fighting the urge to look and see if his parents and brother are among them. Why does he feel like they're all staring at him? He picks up his speed, trying to see how much ground he can cover before Jean or the Professor can stop him.

He's a little irked to see someone already messing around with the fireworks, only to see it's the scrawny bookworm who showed up last fall. Has he talked to her since then? What's her name again? Wait, he taught her how to make a snowball before, right? Yeah that's it, she's a copycat she tried to copy his power. And now she's stealing his prank!

Except, from the way she's acting she doesn't seem to be very intent in setting one off unauthorized. Well, at least one person will be a willing spectator to this.

* * *

The packages all have step by step instructions on the back. The warning label is intense. People let these things around kids? I put it down quickly as I hear footsteps coming toward me in the grass.

"Hey!" It's just Bobby. He chuckles, "You want to send that one up? Here, lemme see it."

I hand him the small firecracker and he looks it over judgingly. He shakes his head and points to another one near it. It's the same exact kind, only in a different color.

"This one'll show up better in this light," he says, gesturing at the dusky sky, "You ever done this before?"

I shake my head, "I've only seen them on TV."

"Whaaat? Nuh-uh. Alright, well then this one's for you," he strips the wrapping off.

Immediately I begin analyzing it, taking in every detail, every measurement, the length of the wick, the material of the casing, my eyes moving over it rapidly, calculating how far, fast and high it will go given the design and the amount of combustible material within and if I test the wind-

"You're okay, right?" Bobby asks suddenly.

It's like being tapped on the shoulder in a dark room. He gives me a curious look, then shrugs like it really doesn't matter to him whether I'm weird or not. We walk over to the bare patch of dirt where the stake is set up.

"Alright, stand back," he announces as he flourishes a match, "I've done this before, but you never know when the manufacturer will have screwed something up."

I step back, mentally taking note of the number of people who've stopped to watch. I'm used to listening for heartbeats and other sounds that would give me a warm body count, but the Professor has been teaching me how to control this mental static and now is a prime opportunity. The world fizzles as he gives up on the first match and goes for a second. I let the static rise to a steady buzz, and with a bit of maneuvering manage to single out twelve minds. There's Bobby, six students, three graduates, a relative, and…

Wait, a twelfth person doesn't fit. I try again as Bobby finally gets the third match lit and smiles triumphantly. I think this telepathy is playing games with me, so I'm reverting back to what I know. No, there _are _twelve heartbeats, twelve different scents. I turn and visually count the people around us. Eleven. I turn back to Bobby as he kneels down to light the fuse. _Twelve_.

* * *

"Jean? What's wrong?" Logan holds her firmly by the arm as her eyelids flicker and she holds her head with one trembling hand.

"I'm not sure exactly…I…Where's Bobby?"

"He's with Rogue over by the-"

"No, he's not, I checked there. Rogue's with Kitty…I don't know…He's by the fireworks-"

Logan feels her sudden alarm, her telepathic connection to him telling him exactly what he needs to know and in the same second they're both running. They skirt groups of people and turn around the corner of the mansion to see Bobby bending down to light a fuse, a match burning away between his fingers.

"Get away from there!" Logan shouts.

Too late. Jean tries to hold the explosion back as bystanders scramble to get away. Logan runs into the heat and grabs a prone Bobby by the arm. He looks as if he jumped clear of the explosion just before it went off, but his clothes are ripped and burnt. A graduate runs forward and takes Bobby from Logan as he turns back to grab Ace. For a moment through his ringing ears, Bobby grasps hold of the situation and reflexively throws a blanket of ice over the popping, spinning flames. They die down pathetically, the fire cracker still twitching in the grass. Jean is already administering first aid to affected bystanders and Storm and Piotr arrive and begin helping the injured to the infirmary.

Logan pulls an unconscious Ace away from the flames and shields her from the oncoming spray of ice. The frost clings to her hair as he lifts her up, a thin layer of ice crackling and falling from his back. There's a gash in her neck, burns on every exposed area of skin, and scorch marks across her clothing. He lies her down on her side in the grass, and clears hair away from her wound. After a minute though, she isn't healing like she ought.

"C'mon!" he growls. Jean comes to their side, out of breath.

"Why isn't she awake yet, I thought she took your power?" she asks as she rips a bandage open and quickly holds it to Ace's neck. She's barely finished securing it when Logan lifts Ace up again and storms towards the infirmary.

* * *

I wake with a sharp gasp. The twelfth one, he shouldn't be there, he's not- I look around the strange, bright room I'm in. For a moment there's a tight grip on my heart as I have a flashback, until I sit up and see several other of my classmates lying or sitting in gurneys around the room. Storm is talking softly with a sophomore in an arm cast, as Dr. Grey smoothes out a bandage on Bobby's face.

My mind races as it tries to recall the last few minutes of my memory. I know I blacked out, clearly, there was an accident, some students were injured, Bobby is looking concerned at me, Dr. Grey turns to see, the match was being lit, and I was counting warm bodies. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven…

"For a minute there we were afraid the healing power didn't take," Dr. Grey smiles reassuringly as she begins to remove my bandages, "I didn't have a chance to look you over very well, but it appears that things are back to normal."

She gently feels my neck with her gloved hand for the wound that must've been there. I don't know how to react and my mind is still rewinding. She looks me in the eye. "You pushed Bobby out of the way, you know. That was fast thinking."

"What happened to my neck?" I ask. I wiggle my leg. My ankle's in a splint.

"I think you just got nicked by something in the blast."

"Big bandage for a nick," I mumble unconsciously.

She smiles, "Go wash up and find Logan, he's worried about you."

"Right. Thanks." I slide off the gurney, and except for a dizzy feeling I do feel like everything's gone back to normal. Whatever that means. Bobby stops me before I get out the door.

"Hey, hey, I'm really sorry. I don't know why it did that, that wasn't supposed to happen," his brows meet each other beneath the worry lines on his forehead, "Seriously, I'm glad you're okay, but I'm so sorry. Thanks for, y'know, pushing me clear."

I shake my head more or less to clear up my thoughts, "It wasn't your fault though? There was somebody else there."

He looks at me in bizarre confusion, "Yeah."

I stumble out the sliding door and just barely avoid a collision with Dr. McCoy who barrels past me with a box of supplies. The infirmary is on one of the underground hallways its entrance at one end, and the door to the Professor's Cerebro at the other end facing it. I think he's inside right now.

Upstairs, things are unnerving. All the guests are gone, and everyone else is just sitting around looking nervous. I notice they're only clustered in certain parts of the hallways, but it isn't until the third group that it finally occurs to me; these are all emergency exit points. Summers showed them to me when I first arrived. I must not be the only one who thinks this wasn't an accident. Dr. Grey told me to wash up, so either she doesn't know what's going on, or it isn't an actual emergency yet.

In the shower I watch the blood and soot wash down the drain. I've lost blood before, plenty of it in fact, but never this much at once. The scene is becoming clearer now. I realize I was the closest one to the explosion. It wasn't a very big one, but look what it did to Bobby and the student with the cast? I had an open wound on my neck, mere centimeters from my jugular and arteries. Yet I just walked out of the infirmary minutes afterward like nothing had happened. I feel my neck as the water tumbles over my shoulders and drags cold fingers through my hair. There isn't even a scar, and I have no limp from the twisted ankle I sustained. Before injuries like that should've laid me out for a good number of days. I don't know what to feel about this.

Once dried and dressed, I head for the nearest emergency exit, then change my mind and go to the boys' dormitories where a few of the guys direct me to a bathroom. There's Son, sitting on the floor next to the toilet, staring at the wall. I close the door behind me and he looks up at the sound.

"I thought it was going to be like last year I thought they'd come back."

"Who, Matt?"

He swallows and makes a nasty face. He's been throwing up. "The soldiers, or whatever they were, I didn't see them I just…I got out through an exit before they got to our floor. I didn't see them."

"There aren't any soldiers," but there were once and that's more information than I want to know, "No one's attacking the school."

"How do you know?" he snaps.

"Because I was there, I know what happened, I just got out of the infirmary."

"You wha? You don't look like you were there. You're just making it up, I saw Bobby, he's burnt up, his clothes were black."

"Matt, I can heal like Logan can, ask Dr, Grey, or ask Bobby if you want. The point is I know we're not in trouble. Alright?"

He looks flustered and kind of flails about uncertainly for a second before settling down again. "Alright. But how do you _know?_"

Someone knocks on the door, "Er, Mr. Logan's lookin' for ye."

"Oh, right. Matt, I'll see you later tonight, okay? We'll watch a movie or something."

"Quit calling me Matt, lady, my name is Sonus."

Yeah, he's fine. Logan's waiting for me in the hall. He doesn't acknowledge my absent injuries, merely saying, "Prof needs to talk to you."

I take it the coast is clear as the groups of worried teens have dispersed and the grad party is starting up without delay. I don't think there will be fireworks, however. Logan leads me to the study wherein I find all the X-Men and Bobby sitting in earnest counsel. Logan directs me to sit next to Bobby on a couch solely occupied by him. Every face is grim.

"Ace, I'm glad to see you're alright," says the Professor, "Bobby has already told us his side of the events tonight, but we need to hear your insight as well if we're to get to the bottom of this."

I look at Logan.

"Instincts, Ace. What happened?"

"I was hanging around the fireworks to get away from the crowd. I said I'd never seen one go up in person, so Bobby was going to show me how to light a small one. However he was having a problem getting the matches to light. While he was busy I was counting the number of people who were watching us just to, erm, practice a few of my senses," the Professor understands my meaning and nods. It's uncomfortable explaining this with the team's attention all on me, "There were twelve people watching us, but I could only see eleven. Then the wind shifted slightly and I could smell the twelfth person hiding in the gardens. Bobby had just gotten a match lit so I pushed him out of the way. The flame jumped onto the wick all on its own and engulfed the firecracker."

"What?" asks Bobby in disbelief.

"The match never touched the wick. I told you it wasn't your fault. Unless you can control fire too."

Maybe I should have kept that last part to myself. Bobby's face falls and goes nearly as pale as the gauze on his cheek. He looks at the Professor who gives him a morose nod.

"He left campus a few moments after the explosion," he states gravely.

"But why would he-" Bobby stumbles for the words, his eyes watering slightly as his face crumples in shocked anger. We sit quietly, the room a soft hum of static as his face turns red and pained. However his voice is firm and unreasonably calm as he finally says, "That was his senior prank he did that just to…don't tell Rogue."


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry I was gone so long guys, it's been a hectic couple of weeks for me. **

In the hallway, Rogue is chastising Bobby's ineptitude at setting off fireworks at the same time as she is leaving multiple kisses against his undamaged cheek. He's enjoying it completely although every now and then her touch causes him to twitch uncomfortably.

"Professor," I step up beside his chair, "if you knew it was Pyro, why did you need to ask me in?"

"I _didn't_ know it was him, I merely suspected it," he replies, "I needed you to confirm whether or not I was correct."

"Oh. I'm sorry then."

"So am I." The skin tightens over his cheekbones, but the tension is passing as he sighs, "I'm glad you didn't tell Matthew what really happened. You're a good friend to him."

"Thank you, he's been a good friend to me as well."

"Good," he smiles gently, "Tell me, Ace, in your private studies how much have you found concerning a subversive group known as the Brotherhood?"

"Not much. They're small, the news rarely has anything to say about them, but that's likely to change as they are growing in numbers. They've been compared to the Neo-Nazi movement, only they aren't as concerned with ethnic race and creed as they are with mutant and non-mutant. On their best days they claim they want peace between the two, but it's obvious they only mean it for mutants. Am I correct in assuming John Allerdyce is a member?"

"You are, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately. Do they have trouble with us?"

"Their leader and I are, or rather were," he says with a disheartened sigh, "good friends. We created this place. So, to answer your question, yes, _he_ has trouble with _me_. But it's nothing for you to be concerned with, Ace, really. He doesn't attack children. This was just a petty rivalry between the two young men."

"About that," I'm recalling the chess set in Xavier's office, "how much trouble will Bobby be in for taking the blame? It was partially my fault."

"How so?"

"I didn't stop him, he was doing it to please me, I should've tried to put the flame out, I should've warned people the instant I noticed something was off."

"The blame isn't on him. He wants it kept from Rogue, let him. We can handle it, Ace. Now, go find Sonus and make him feel comfortable. Oh, and keep him as far away from the dance as possible. A certain girl's beau is on the lookout for him."

"I'll do that, sir," I chuckle.

Consequential to my promising a movie later, Son is already waiting for me in the lounge with a stack of DVD's. He and four other boys are arguing loudly over what to watch, but the argument is mostly made up of bad "your mom" jokes. I grab a random film and stuff it in the player, putting an end to the situation. The insults die down and somebody's sister brings in eight bags of popcorn fresh from the microwave and joins us. Soon nothing can be heard but the sound of five voracious teenage boys crunching and crackling their way through all eight bags. Son, eyes glued to the television, stretches out on the couch and rests his feet in my lap. He looks up to see if I'm annoyed by this, which I am, and grins.

Before the movie's halfway over, one of the boys falls asleep. We watch silently as the two on either side of him stick popcorn up his nose. Son snickers, the girl ignores them, and I find a Red Vine between the couch cushions. A rising chant of "do it, do it!" echoes around me as I gently place the dusty candy above the victim's upper lip. It lays there like a long, greasy red mustache as the guys applaud me and the girl rolls her eyes and doggedly tries to keep watching the movie. Someone gets out a camera phone as Matt pokes me with approval.

"No one's said anything yet."

I swivel around.

"It's coming and the longer- more nervous- we've already gotten- lawsuits-"

"They're out there- how are we supposed to stop-"

I walk out of the lounge and tilt my head so I can better hear what's going on upstairs.

"This isn't a debate, _Logan_."

"No shit. If you hadn't noticed I'm not really in a _debating_ mood."

"Right, that'll help the school's image," replies Summers sarcastically, "You losing your temper over-"

"Did you even _see_ what he did? To_ our_ kids!"

"Guys, knock it off!" snaps Jean, her sharp tone startling me.

"You think I don't know what he did? You think I didn't see Bobby's face when he-"

"Logan, Scott," commands the Professor in an equally upsetting tone, "_enough_. We are all fully aware of the threat posed here. Now-"

The sound of an explosion on the TV makes me jump and miss the last bit of Xavier's sentence.

"Oh please," the girl throws popcorn at the screen, "that would never happen in real life!"

* * *

_Departing students need to be packed and out of their dorms by six pm Wednesday evening. Transportation must arrive before eight pm unless extenuating circumstances prohibit, in which case inform a supervising member of staff. Campus will be closed to all arrivals after breakfast Thursday morning. Any departing student still on campus after Thursday's breakfast will have to ask Logan for a drive to the train station which he will not enjoy. So, please leave during the designated time, otherwise you're in for a long, awkward drive. _

"Seriously? Who put that in there, that's funny," Son laughs under his breath as he rereads the moving instructions, "he drives hella fast too. Prepare to be jetlagged when you reach your _final destination._"

I slap his shoulder, "Oh, shuttup. Have you packed yet?"

"Funny, thing-"

"You haven't."

"Could you help me?"

"Are you kidding me? Don't you have a roommate who's supposed to help you?"

Son just snorts, "My ride's supposed to be here at five thirty. If it has to wait, Dad threatens to give my Cali tickets to a hobo."

"Cali? As in California?"

"Yeah. Ever been?"

"Er, yes. I'm from there."

"Get out of my life, really? SoCal?"

"I haven't lived there in a long while, so I don't know what you mean."

"That's cool, but have you ever been to Santa Monica?"

"No, I haven't _been _therein a while. I don't know anything about the state."

"Alright, cool beans. It's on the coast and the waves down there are awesome, and the beach is filled with smokin' college girls. It's heaven."

"Sounds it-" I come to a halt.

I'm standing in the doorway of his dorm, taking in the chaos as Son traverses his personal minefield while nattering about Santa Monica and Palm Springs. When he notices I'm still standing in the doorway he gives me an impatient look.

"It just occurred to me I've never been to your room before," I say.

"Scared?" he asks devilishly, "Maids have been known to quit upon seeing my room."

"Assuming you hadn't flirted with them first."

"How're we doing in here?" asks Summers, popping his head over my shoulder. I wave a hand at the glorious disaster in front of me. He nods, "I'll send Pete for garbage bags."

"You're the man, teach!" Son yells as Summers leaves to check on the next dorm.

The worst part about Son's lack of cleanliness is that it's a trait shared by his roommate, Derek. Derek's uncle isn't picking him up until Wednesday, so he's lying on his bed playing Nintendo. Every now and then Son heckles him for not helping, but is obstinately ignored. The hour is peppered with Son's grumblings and occasional Beyonce renditions, and Derek's exclamations at his handheld.

"Derek, what's your mutation?" I ask.

"He fixes toasters," answers Son.

"Screw you, I did that _once_," retorts Derek, "I'm a _technopath_."

Son shrugs matter-of-factly, "Toaster-fixer."

"I'm going to guess that means he can control technology with his mind?"

"No, he can fix freaking toasters. He can't fix a computer, but he can fix toasters. Not helpful at all. I don't even like toast."

"You like toaster strudels," mutters Derek, "those are made in a toaster."

"No one was asking you, dumbass."

"And I can _to_ fix computers, you just won't let me."

"Yeah, cuz I don't want to get toast crumbs in between the keys. They already have enough crap in them."

"ERGH! I _hate_ you, Kirby!" Derek shouts at the handheld.

"Who decided you two should be in the same room together?" I ask pointlessly.

"Um, this _isn't _my sock, Toast Boy," says Son as he tosses a large brown sock onto Derek who doesn't respond. Eventually a small pile of belongings accrues on top of Derek as more stowaways are found lingering amongst Son's things.

"How do you know none of _your_ stuff is mixed up with _his_?" I ask once all the bags are packed and zipped up.

"Touch my stuff and you're both toast," threatens Derek.

"AHA!" shouts Son.

"Shut UP!" Derek responds with a frustrated wince and a reddening complexion. "Just cuz you had to go and say it a million times."

Son gives me a smug look as he lifts his duffel off the bed.

The town car pulls into the roundabout a minute before five-thirty. A fresh round of hugs from emboldened girls and a meaningful "Good luck" from Summers, and Son's ready to leave. I walk out onto the porch with him as the car navigates around the other transports.

Before I know what I'm doing, I say, "I'm going to miss you, Son."

"No kidding?" he sniffs contentedly. I've never told anyone I miss them before.

The driver parks and pops the trunk before getting out and taking Son's luggage. Son leans down and kisses me on the top of the head, "See you next fall, Grumpy."

* * *

I've run out of books. I'm trudging through the fiction sections right now, but keep running into a genre called "young adult". I think it's supposed to appeal to me, but I just can't wrap my head around how. It's like picking through a runny stew and accidentally scooping up soggy, unidentifiable bits of vegetable which you quickly jiggle off the spoon and onto a napkin so you don't happen to meet again. I groan and collapse on a couch, letting a tasteless teen novel drop from my fingers and onto the floor. The bowl is empty and now I'm going to starve.

"Drama queen," mutters Jean as she drops a stack of books on the table next to me. "Read these yet?"

I roll my head to the side, "Maybe."

"How about this one?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I hate to say this, but it looks like you're going to have to spend your summer break _out of doors_."

"Eugh, just leave me here to die."

"Alright, but when I come back I'm going to have Logan with me to peel you off that couch himself."

"Let him try."

She snorts ungracefully and leaves the room. I get up quickly and skip to the nearest exit just in case she's serious.

Outside I find a bench Son and I used to sit at and plunk down on it. It's only about nine o'clock in the morning, but already it's starting to feel muggy. There's almost no one around right now. We're allowed to sleep past breakfast, but not lunch, and some students must be cashing in on that. Everyone else is already off performing some chore or activity. Logan said I can continue Danger Room practice over the summer, and of course the gym, library, and pool are all open. A few electives like art and shop have remained open as well although I'd like to try horseback riding myself. Xavier owns two middle-aged horses which live comfortably in the stable house alongside some of Scott's beloved antique motorcycles. I wonder if- Bobby's coming this way.

"Hey, Ace. Bored?"

I nod, "Bored."

He nods understandingly and rubs his cheek. "So…I know it's been a little while, but…you know, that whole thing…at graduation. Um, it was kinda still my business, so yeah, I- you didn't need to be involved in that it was just this…stupid thing," he stares at the ground and shakes his head slightly as he rubs the back of his neck, "It just wasn't right and yeah, I still feel bad about it. I know everyone's healed up by now, Ricky got his cast off last week, and you took Logan's power, right?"

"I didn't _take _it. I just…copied it."

"Hey, relax," he smiles disarmingly, "I date Rogue, you can't surprise me." I hold up my hand and let it crystallize with ice particles. "Point taken. Look, I'm sorry about him- John…he wasn't always like that."

"You used to be friends, right?"

"Yeah. How could you tell?"

"I've seen this kind of thing before," I say, "Just…don't let him get to you. He'll still try to get under your skin, but…well I guess you know who you're dealing with."

"Yeah, I'll…keep that in mind. He really used to be cool, I mean, he was a real jerk a lot of the time, but…you know how it is I guess." He smiles as an old memory comes back to him, "Anyway, I guess I'll see you around."

"Sure. See you."

He walks away and I suck a bit of frost off my finger. I wonder how much ice I could make with this humid weather. Maybe I should just practice swimming this summer, it's going to be hot anyway, and horseback riding is a really sweaty exercise. Speaking of exercising, well, no, the gym will be filled with those body builder type guys. Then again, some of them left, it's a free-for-all now, anybody can use the gym. I think there's a new shipment of books coming in August, so I really only have until then to find something to do. Does school have to start so soon after that though? When school starts again, Son will be back. I really do miss him. He was so annoying, but that's kind of the part I miss, the constant prattling. He was never out-rightly offensive, unlike-

"That's the moron nearly blew you up, right?" Vincent states as he suddenly sits down next to me. "The ice guy?"

Son's ignorant flirtiness was one thing, but this guy? "Yes, it was horrible, my life flashed before my eyes and they were just barely able to reattach my pinkie finger."

He laughs out loud, "Shit! And to think they couldn't save your eyesight."

I close my eyes, "Too bad it wasn't my hearing. What are you up to, Vincent?"

"Eh, not much. There's only so much swimming you can take before you feel like a human raisin."

"It's not even July yet and you're already bored?"

"Well what are you doing?" he challenges.

"Fair point."

He chews on his cheek, "So, what should we do about it? We could put soap in the fountain."

"That would be fun for five minutes and then we'd be in detention again."

"Buzzkill. Five minutes is better than nothing."

I raise an eyebrow, "Hm, give me another option."

"Dying the pond orange."

"Where would we get orange dye?"

"Okay, so we don't have dye…We could order twenty pizzas under Summers' name."

"None of these ideas will work because the Professor will know what we're up to and stop us. Do you have any ideas that _won't _get us in trouble?"

"Sure, but they aren't any fun. We could play board games or make lanyards!" he rolls his eyes. Those are a couple of the minor activities offered this summer, and I agree, not very exciting.

"There's horseback riding," I suggest unenthusiastically, "shop, arts and crafts."

"Ugghh," he groans and says in a sing-song voice, "Or we could just 'go on an adventure' like kiddies and explore the mansion!" He scoffs then we meet each other's eyes. "That actually-"

"Yeah! The mansion's huge!"

"We are going to get _so_ lost."

I jump to my feet, "And getting lost kills tons of time, are you kidding me? C'mon."

So, I underestimated how big the building actually is, though in my defense it seemed a lot smaller when there were more people around. After we venture past the uninhabited dorms we enter a no man's land of vacant corridors. The hallways are all eerily quiet, and dimly lit; dust motes float ghost-like in the sunbeams streaming in through the occasional window. We find classrooms we didn't even know existed with doors hidden in alcoves, and some blending in so well with the surrounding panels that they are only noticeable by their doorknobs.

Vincent tries all of them to see whether or not they're locked, occasionally opening a classroom or utility closet filled with boring desks or brooms. Son would click his tongue and say, "No luck", and immediately shut the first door and wander on with his hands in his pockets. Vincent takes every opportunity to step in and investigate, walking up and down desk aisles and reading left over notes on whiteboards. Even in the smallest utility closets he'll duck his head in and look around curiously like he expects to find some clue or message left just for him.

We search wordlessly. I become entranced by the flow of the wood grain in the flooring, the curves and loops like long, elegant fingerprints. I wonder how old these trees were when they were cut down, how many stories they could've told. Vincent strolls back and forth across my path as he jiggles doorknobs on both sides of the hall. I'm tempted to just lie down, spread my arms out over the floor, and rub my fingers in the grooves and over the knots, when Vincent whispers at me.

"Over here!" he's pointing into an alcove. I abandon my daydream and look through his opened doorway. Inside there's a flight of stairs leading up to another door. "Come up with me?"

I glance around, "What part of the building are we in?"

He steps back and looks around as well, then shrugs and looks at me with a questioning brow.

The staircase leads to a gable. It's a typical gable, small with a low ceiling and a stuffy atmosphere. I walk over to the window to find out where we are, then on an impulse, unlock it and lift the sash.

I stick my head out. Ground level there's a thin stretch of manicured lawn and a trimmed hedge, but it appears to be an area otherwise ignored. The detention room is on this side of the house. I breathe deeply as I admire the acres of forest just beyond the boundary wall. If I'm correct, Xavier owns all of that too.

"What's it look like?" Vincent asks. I climb out, bracing one foot against the lip of the storm gutter and gripping the eaves with both hands. Vincent is close on my heels and just as I've perched safely on the peak, he's made it up the slope. I half expect him to continue on and explore the rest of the roof, but instead he sighs and a feeling of contented peace settles around him. Neither of us speaks for a while.

The air isn't as humid up here. It's shaded enough on this side of the roof to make it still feel like early morning, but warm enough to make one sleepy. I shift against the shingles and lean back. A breeze disturbs the endless treetops and Vincent sighs again.

"How did we get up _here_?" he asks with a bit of humor. I close my eyes and brace my feet at angles so I can't accidentally slip off. He copies my example and leans back carefully. Another happy sigh. "What are we doing here?"

I open my eyes, "Do you want to get down?"

"No. Forget it." He yawns, "Ugh, I hate getting up early. I need to sleep in 'til two if you want me to actually accomplish anything."

"Hm, nightowl?"

"Diehard."

The conversation lapses back into silence. I'm dizzied by how close I am to the sky. It wants to eat me up, to lift me off the roof and float me back. The trees murmur briefly under their breath before resuming straight faces. I close my eyes and readjust my feet,

"I'm here so I could have a place to be. What about you?"

Vincent turns his head and I open one eye to look at him. He's smiling slightly, maybe even thankfully. "I didn't really have a choice."

"I get that."

"No, I mean I _have_ to stay here. You can probably drop out whenever you want, I'm stuck here until graduation."

"Why's that?"

"Because, I-I" he stutters, rethinking what he's saying. He scowls in irritation and looks away, "Just forget it."

I study him, "Don't worry, Vincent, I don't talk to people either."

"Yeah?" he muses for a moment, "You shouldn't. You never know when they're going to try and use it against you."

"Hm, or you tell someone you trust, but before you know it it's coming back at you from a complete stranger who doesn't know how to keep their mouth shut."

He groans and covers his face, "Yes! And they try to get something out of you!"

"Or they pretend like they want to help you, like they _understand_."

"And you can't just punch them in the face and tell them to fuck off. You just learn to stay quiet, pretend you don't care, but you start listening in on everything."

"You have an unfair advantage there."

"So? So do you."

I narrow my eyes at him, "Yeah?"

He gestures carefully, "Okay, I know you have extra hearing, or whatever, alright? Don't get mad at me."

"I'm allowed to be mad, don't tell me what to do."

"Whatever."

"No, it's not 'whatever'. What else do you know about me?"

"I don't know anything about you!"

"You followed me around a lot before we fought, so you must know _something_."

"I- wha- I wasn't following you around!" he says, flustered.

"Fine, I'm going to tell you everything I've heard about you and then you're going to do the same for me, because I _know_ some of the things about you are false."

"Like what?"

"Well," I sit up, "back when everybody was guessing your mutation we all knew you had trouble with the law. So they were making things up saying you rolled a cop car, or killed a man, or robbed a bank with your mind, or some other stupid thing."

"I tried to blackmail a cop."

"You tried to- that _was _stupid."

"My turn. Are you really a hundred years old?"

I snort, "_No_."

He's quiet for a minute, "Are you _older _than a hund-"

"No!" I laugh, "Okay, have you ever been a crack addict?"

"Ugh, they _know_ about that? No, no, no I mean, I did coke _once_, but…I mean c'mon, everybody thinks inner city kids do drugs 24/7," he laughs, "but, yeah, drugs are, you know where they're at, but you don't want _that stuff _unless it's already too late for you, you know? I mean, I know drugs are bad for me, but if I'm going to buy it I'm still not buying it from _that _guy, gross."

I give him a long look, "What was it like though, the high?"

He shrugs, "I was kind of turned off by the whole thing."

"Why though? Why would you go near that stuff if you knew it was bad?"

"Because I just did, okay? We were just hanging out, someone passes something around and you just take it cuz you're there. I didn't really question it. Plus, you know, I kind of wanted to see what it felt like to get high."

"Just for curiosity's sake, or?"

"Well," he shifts uncomfortably then sits up next to me, "When you can hear the things I hear, you- I thought if I took drugs it would…I didn't know what I was doing, but I thought if I took drugs it would kill brain cells, right? And I thought maybe...maybe I wouldn't have to hear people's thoughts anymore, maybe it would kill the mutation."

"But it didn't."

"It made them worse! It made thoughts louder and since everyone I was with was high they were twisted and insane and I could hear all kinds of things I _did not_ need to know about people. So I never touched drugs since. Then my cousin took me to this buddy of his who turned out to be a dealer, the cops showed up, and I got booked just for being there. I got pissed at the cop when he wouldn't believe me, so I told him I knew something about him and nearly got my ass sent to juvie, except the Professor got them to send me here instead. That's it, that's my story, and if you fucking tell anyone-"

"Why would I tell? They make stuff up about us because we don't tell. By the way I haven't been sharing rumors about you, they come to me and they stop."

"Yeah, what about that sound guy? He gossips like hell."

"He's harmless, and I don't tell him things either, we're not that close."

He scoffs, "Whatever," and leans back again.

I rest my elbows on my knees and let out an angry sigh. "What were things like for you before your mutation?"

"Fuck off."

"I'm serious."

"And I will seriously push you off."

"Because I can't remember _not _having powers and I've always wondered what it feels like to be normal. I can't even remember why they started."

He rubs his eyes, "I don't know. My life's always been crap and that's all there is to it. It was quieter and less weird, but not much different. I don't know how mine started."

There it is again, that memory. I let my feelings ebb and flow until the static dims and I'm left in a tepid anger, "Did you ever hit him back?"

He jumps and looks at me, but I don't meet his eyes. He debates with himself for a minute, then calms, "Just once…he left right after that."

We're quiet for several long minutes. Normally I'd regret giving information like that up, but he knows why I said it. I can push him off the roof just as easily.

"Let's not go back in," he says, "let's just stay up here all day."

"It's going to get hot."

"We can take it."


	15. Chapter 15

The book lands on the table with a smack. Vincent laughs out loud, and I grin and try again. I focus completely on the book as he leans back precariously in his chair. The book lifts up three inches in the air and hovers. I smile and look at Vince. The book goes flying toward him. He crashes backward with a shout and the book skids across the next table and lands with a flutter onto the carpet floor.

"The hell was that?!" he says as he gets up and sees I'm bent over laughing.

"I didn't do that on purpose, I swear," I try to catch my breath.

"Uh-huh, sure," he mutters offhandedly as he goes to pick up the book. "Munroe's coming by."

"I hear her."

"You wanna go?"

"Why? She's not going to bother us," I put my hand out for the book.

He leans across the table to hand it to me, then changes his mind and holds it out flat on his hand instead, "Take it."

I give him a look and he merely bounces the book in his hand. I let out an annoyed breath and lay my hand out flat like his. "We're going to practice your power next."

He just smiles and the book lifts gently off his hand and floats toward me.

It's July and we've managed to find multiple ways to entertain ourselves over that period of time. Between breakfast and lunch we talk on the roof and hang out like this in the library, then after lunch we spend most of our time indoors looking for trouble or bumming in one of our dorms. Around evening we go back up on the roof and watch the sun set over the trees. I've seen better sunsets, but he hasn't so I humor his demure enjoyment and we watch every one. Then come twilight we play stupid made-up games on the lawn until someone tells us to come inside.

Fireflies are abundant this year. Neither of us had ever seen a firefly before so they're a bit of a novelty. If you stand still long enough they'll eventually land on you by accident, and then walk around with nothing better to do. Vincent loves them. He ran up to me in the dark last night with a huge smile on his face and held out his hands. They were dotted with about twenty little yellow flashing lights crawling around lazily.

"I was wondering what you were up to," I said.

He giggled quietly and stared at his glowing hands, "They tickle."

He continues to surprise me.

"Well," he says as I place the book back on the shelf, "You're the only person I actually know, and I was bored."

I asked why he came up to me that one day in June, "Yeah, but you didn't like me."

"No, I didn't," he says flatly, "but you hated me too and I'm fine with that."

Still not a perfect answer, but I'll accept it. "Alright, got any other ideas before I've got to go?"

"Oh right, you've got Danger tonight. Um, I don't know, we could just walk there really slowly."

"Wow, you really are out of ideas," he raises his eyebrows in agreement. "Okay, I say we work on your talent. The Professor's already been training you, right?"

"Yeah. So far we've gotten the static to be more of a background thing. It's working, but it's just hard to wrap my head around."

"We'll work on it on the way there then. Also, I don't like hearing your thoughts spasmodically, so I'll give you a few tricks I use to keep people from listening in. I think they'll transfer anyway, our ability is pretty similar it sounds."

"Could I make that black hole thing you have?" he asks as he opens the door to the hallway.

"No, that's very different, it took years to make that and I had a lot of outside help. Since even the Professor told me how strange it is, I assume there aren't many others who can do it."

"Well, what about the person you learned it from?"

"Not around anymore."

"Oh, er…"

"Anyway, it's the stray thoughts that I hear from you the clearest, the simple thoughts like, 'what are we having for lunch?' or 'did I do that assignment?'. You've said that's what you hear most too, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, the really boring everyday thoughts. Xavier's teaching me how to move _around _them almost, like you do people in a crowd."

"Huh, his analogy?" he nods, "I like it."

"Yeah, he's knows his shit."

"He also does not appreciate swearing in his-"

"Yeah, thanks, I know that, okay?"

"In any case," I continue, "there are ways to keep those same thoughts to yourself in case another telepath is nearby. Xavier will get to that soon I imagine because I can't hear anything he thinks, just some intense static."

"Yeah, it's the same with Grey; she drowns out most of the chatter and just causes interference."

"She does," I consider bringing something else up, but think the better of it. "Well, simple thoughts can go in the background of your own mind as well. You've got several layers of thought going at once and you can keep the foremost ones quiet pretty easily. I know of non-telepaths being trained to do it, so it's not complicated."

We get to the elevator and he presses the button, "Regular people? No kidding, why?"

"Same reason, to keep out telepaths."

"How do you know stuff like that?"

I hesitate before I answer, "I've studied it. For fun."

He sort of laughs under his breath, "You _are _a geek."

This is part of his tough guy act. I know he doesn't mean it, but,

"A geek who kicked your butt and can read your mind, now back off _wangster_." That's what Son's called him in private on a few occasions.

"Sure, I'm a wangster, cuz I _want_ to get my a- _butt _kicked by a bunch of Latinos."

"Then I'll find something you really are and call you that instead, but in the meantime I'm allowed to enjoy what I want."

He just glares, "Whatever you say, boss."

"I'm not your boss, and you're not my judge."

"Then don't tell me who to judge," he says hotly, brows furrowed. The elevator dings and the panels open. He walks off as soon as I've stepped in.

"You've been practicing the telekinesis anyhow," growls Logan, "Should I even bother regulating what traits you pick up?"

"Have you been doing that all along?" I ask, puzzled.

Scott just shakes his head as he works the Danger settings. Logan notices my distraction and turns to glare at him. With Matt's help, Scott has grown on me a bit. I unfairly placed him under the classification of someone I didn't get along with in past. However, though it was prejudiced of me, he still shares similar qualities.

"Do you have input here, Cyclops?"

"Yes, but you'll just turn it into a fight, and that will undermine-"

"Too bad," comes the expected retort. He turns back to me, "You. Quit laughing and get in there."

I hurry to, trying to avoid the argument about to erupt. With any luck Scott will start the simulation before the fight and I can get on with it instead of having to wait awkwardly in the empty room while they assess their differences. It was funny last time because when I finished and returned to the control room they had a panicked look. Scott had started the simulation once I was inside, but due to the ensuing argument they'd both forgotten I was in there. The looks on their faces were so priceless.

"Hey, hey, hey!" The scenario shuts down suddenly as Logan barks over the speakers, "What are you doing?"

"What?" There's no reply. I know full well what I was doing. I just didn't think they were paying attention. My many wounds sew themselves back up and I suck the dried blood off the back of my hand and wait for them to return me to the melee. Shifting my weight, I nearly fall over as my leg screams in pain. I shift back quickly and put only gentle pressure on the balls of my feet so the leg muscle can heal. I can't hear through the room's walls, but I know they're commenting on all of this.

"Ace, back up," commands Scott. I obey with a frustrated sigh. "Ace?"

"It was an accident, I'll do better next time."

"Alright, pay more attention."

The scene digitizes then returns completely in pause mode. Shrapnel hangs deadly in the air and the metal panels around me are pockmarked with bullet holes. I discern that my leg has healed and correct my stance. The shrapnel slices past my face and the scenario begins again.

I make a point of making it through the entire thing without a scratch. Today is my final evaluation where Scott decides if I should be a part of team sessions or not. More importantly, he decides if I get to use the room monitor free for the summer and choose my own scenarios. Due to all the arguing, I've been completing missions in my own way under my own judgment, just making sure to finish up in record time. Unfortunately today one of them noticed what I was up to. Neither of my instructors is fooled as I enter the control booth as the picture of tact and responsibility. However, their reactions are unexpected.

"Just, be careful in future," says Scott.

"Don't go so rough on yourself," adds Logan.

Their tones are softly stern, both holding back from telling me what they really wanted to say.

* * *

"Logan-"

"She'll be fine," he listens to make sure Ace is on her way to the first floor, "You going to stop her from practicing?"

"No, she's good at it, she's well-trained. Plus, she clearly enjoys the work. Has she shown any interest in joining the team?"

"She's not joining any team."

"Have you asked her?"

"I think she's got enough to deal with right now."

"But she's in her element in there. Besides, you said so yourself it's a creative outlet, it gets her out of her head."

"And you said you didn't trust her and didn't like her."

"When?" Scott rebuffs.

"When she first got here, you stormed into the Professor's office and made a formal complaint."

"I said I didn't trust her, I didn't make any _complaint_. I was concerned. That was a long time ago now and we've all gotten to know her better."

"She's not a team player, she's got a record."

Scott smiles sardonically, "Ah, the last time I heard that argument you still somehow ended up on the team. She can learn to be a team player. Why would you sign her up for team sessions otherwise?"

"Because she needs the work and the encouragement, needs to know she has support; but none of that means she wants to join the team."

"Then you ask her."

"Oh yeah, why, so she'll stop talking to me altogether?"

"So she'll think about it, Logan," Scott replies with a fed up tone, "You don't think it'll boost her self-esteem to know we'reconsidering her?"

"You are really patting yourself on you back with that one aren't you? The kid can see through you, Scott, she can do without the condescension."

Scott throws his arms out in frustration, "Where's the condescension? I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't honestly think she was capable!"

"She'll see it anyway!" Logan shouts, "And she'll be ticked off if I ask this soon in the game, anyway. Let her get used to the team-up before you pop it on her. Don't be surprised if she runs away again."

"She's not going to run away, Logan, you always come to the worst conclusions. Ever thought if maybe showing a little faith in her wouldn't slow her down on this path to self-destruction?"

"Ever thought your head is too small for the rest of your body?"

"Logan," Scott uses his adult tone of voice.

"She's not destroying anything," Logan replies smugly, "Ace, takes care of herself, that's part of the training you mentioned. She's not going to intentionally damage something she's been working on for years that would be sacrilege. She's just testing her boundaries. That is the point of the exercises after all."

Scott sighs internally, "It's up to you then if she should be supervised. Otherwise I'm giving her free rein of the room like the others. She'll just have to jostle with the trainees over the timesheet."

Logan nods thoughtfully, "Do it. There shouldn't be a problem."

* * *

Before I get in the shower I look for any evidence of my injuries. The suit they send me in is painfully effective, made of a flexible, bullet-proof material that absorbs most of the damage. I'm not trying to hurt myself, but I'd rather I took the blows. They mean something different now that I don't have to avoid them.

I shake out my wet hair and rub a towel over my face before looking around at the water droplets I just sprayed everywhere. I don't need Danni chastising me again, so I hurry to wipe them all down. I don't bother wiping the water off her makeup bag, however.

I slip out of the building in my nightclothes and steal across the side lawn to a little knoll. In the darkness I can just make out the form of someone lying against it. I lie down next to him and blow gently upon the lights crawling over his torso.

"They were happy there, don't do that!" cries Vincent.

"They're not going anywhere," I assure him as the fireflies continue on unperturbed, "lazy little bugs."

"You smell good. How'd it go?"

"They noticed."

"Did you really get hurt this time?"

"I busted my leg, didn't even know it for a minute," I place my finger in front of one of his fireflies, "A few cuts, a little blood, not much else. All healed."

"Huh," is all he says. The firefly meanders over my finger and back onto Vince's T-shirt. There's no moon tonight, just stars. The knoll we're seated on is far enough out of the reach of the light from the school's windows that we are in a concealing darkness.

"You still mad at me?" Vincent asks.

"No. You?"

"Just a bit," he smiles. "So besides the things everyone already knows, what _else _can you do? I know you've got a ton of 'um you're keeping secret."

I don't reply.

"Alright, fine. I'm going to just _pick _a power and you're going to tell me if you have it or not. Ready? Super strength."

I snort, "Have you _seen _me?"

Vince pinches my arm, "Yeah, okay, but don't tell me you've never met an ox or a gorilla before and didn't pick something up."

"I've never met an ox or a gorilla before. But I _have _met a boa constrictor."

"Shuttup, can you squeeze people to death?"

"No, I'm just kidding," I chuckle.

"Alright then," he sucks in his cheeks, "Hm, breathe underwater?"

"Tried it, didn't have gills, nearly drowned."

"Super-speed?"

"Never."

"Flight?"

"When I was much, much smaller, but I could never get off the ground without jumping off something tall first…You know, I'm surprised I never killed myself."

"What about that, um," he waves his hand parallel to the ground, "where you can write on a piece of paper without using a pen?"

"It has a Japanese name, but I can't remember it now. No, I've never been able to do that, but it's incredibly cool."

"Would you copy it if you saw it?"

"Maybe, but I've heard it's heavily influenced by emotion. I don't want my feelings to end up written on the wall."

"How about fire-breathing?"

"Ha, no. From where are you getting some of these?"

"Movies, duh. Force field?"

"Yes."

"No shit?"

"Language, Vince. Yes, I can create force fields."

"Sweet. Predicting the future?"

"Nope."

"X-Ray vision?"

"To an extent. I use it- or I used it- to check for internal injuries. I can't see through walls or anything."

"Where do _you _get all this stuff?"

"Here and there."

"How about shape-shifting?"

"Shape-shifting is a pain in the neck. If it weren't for the healing ability I'd probably get rid of it altogether."

"So, you've shape-shifted before?" he asks with just a hint of surprise.

"Just once completely. The next morning when I was back in my original form my skin felt loose and flabby. I haven't done a complete change ever since."

"A complete change," he echoes, "What about something smaller scale, like making your nose flatter or your feet bigger?"

"Are you trying to say something?"

He smirks, "No, you know what I'm saying."

"Yeah, I've changed my facial features pretty often."

"Why?"

"So people wouldn't recognize me somewhere. It still feels funny, but it's easier to get used to than a full body transformation."

"Where do you go where you don't want people to recognize you?"

"Nowhere, I don't go anywhere."

"Where did you _used _to go?" he asks immediately.

"Am I being interrogated?"

"You can't tell me?"

"No."

"Alright," he says submissively, "Could you change your face now?"

"To?"

"Anyone. Do you mimic people?"

"I can mimic people, or I can invent someone."

"Invent someone then, it'd be freaky to see anyone else's face on you."

I shake my head at his logic and carefully manipulate my facial muscles as I tilt my head towards the light. I glance at him and he's cringing slightly,

"Yeah that was weird anyway. How do you change your bone structure?" he curiously pokes my lowered cheekbone. Son would be so grossed out right now.

"With a lot of concentration and practice," I answer, "It hurts though."

"Oh, well then change it back," he says.

I wince as everything eases back into place, "It's much easier for natural shape-shifters I think. They just go with it and I never hear complaints about the pain. It's probably not good for me to do it very often or for very long."

He nods, "So. You don't shape-shift."

"No."

"But you can."

"Yep."

"You know, you collect powers like some people collect stamps, right?"

"I'm not as organized though," I smile and sit up.

"No," he agrees as he sits up too, "and don't tell me it isn't playing hell with your genes."

"Thanks for the useless warning, Professor."

He scoffs and goes to punch me on the shoulder, but changes it to a hesitant tap instead, "Don't call me that. Hey," he flips his bangs out of his face, "does he know you can shape-shift?"

"He does now. You're the first person I've told. I haven't changed my face like that since I was at least twelve."

"Not even Logan knows?"

"Well, no. I don't tell him _everything_."

"Cool," he flips his bangs out of his face again. He could use a haircut. I could never convince him though. "Yeah, the Professor's always trying to talk to me too. I have to go talk to him every Sunday. It's creepy."

"Well, he is trying to help, but-"

"And that's another thing, what is with everybody here trying to be so goddamn _helpful _and _friendly? _What do they want? I'm not good at anything, I haven't done anything, and I've got nothing anybody wants, so why-"

"You're alive."

"So?"

"So? That's all you need to be important to people like them. They're not trying to extort you, I have even less than you do, Vince, trust me. Yet, they've put a lot of work into me so far. I can't see any other reason why, so they must just care. I wouldn't still be here if they didn't, I would've left a long time ago. There _are _people like that in the world, people who really just want to ease someone else's suffering. Why make a place like this for us if you don't care at least a little?"

"There's another thing," he encourages the bugs off his shirt, "So we're here away from humans, right, because humans are retards who want us all in jail, or whatever. So why do the Professor and other teachers want to be all buddy with them?"

"I don't know, Vince," I rub my eyes, "Probably for the same reason they care about you, they just value life in general. You can't say there's anything wrong with that."

He sighs unsatisfactorily and looks out over the lawn. "Whatever."

* * *

He turns back to see her with her hands held out in front of her, inspecting them. He could never live like she does.

"Which leg?"

She looks up momentarily and wiggles her left leg. Vince nods. She puts her hands down and stretches out her leg, feeling the muscle, "I must've displaced something. It didn't feel broken, just, weak."

_Weak_. "They giving you the slot anyhow?"

"I suppose so."

"You going to be gone all the time then?"

"Well, I'm not the only one who uses it, so I doubt it."

He can barely make out her profile in the light from the windows. Her nose is sloped and her lashes are stiff. There's a gentle curve of her forehead and a sharp jut to her chin. Her hair hangs heavier than usual, still damp from her shower he expects, as its usual flat strands hold together in thick locks. She could avoid the damage if she tried, she just doesn't want to anymore. A firefly flies into her hair and wanders calmly over the top of her head.

"How bad can it get in there?"

"Well, it's called the Danger Room for a reason," she says, pulling her legs back up and crossing them, "It's not programmed to kill us, but it tries very hard to when you let it. You don't have to let it though. It's just fun."

He holds back from teasing the insect out of her hair. "It's fun to get hurt?"

She turns her head again to look at him and the bug moves out of reach, "No, it's not."

"You don't have to get hurt, you're you. How did you pull that muscle in your leg?"

"Vince, I don't need there to be three of you monitoring my work."

"Maybe you do."

She looks away again and the bug lifts off on its own. Her pajamas are a pair of grey campus sweatpants and a white tank top with fading pink hibiscus flowers printed on it. White bra straps are loose against her shoulders and he glances at her chest for all but a second before looking away quickly. He opens his mouth to speak, changes his mind twice, then says,

"Can I come in and watch you, you know…when you practice?"

"Maybe," she hesitates.

"I'm not going to hassle you or anything," he says, picking at the grass, "I'm just curious."

"I'll see if it's okay," she replies.

* * *

The firework incident proved Logan right, that this ability isn't a convenience it's a malady, a terminal illness with no termination. I feel an old pain whenever I think about it, and ask stupid questions like: What if Bobby hadn't gotten control of the blaze? What if Logan and Jean hadn't arrived soon enough? What if I hadn't noticed there was something wrong in the first place?

Well, Bobby would most surely have permanent scars on his face if not some other kind of damage from the debris that would've sped off in every direction without the halt of Jean's psionic barrier. The fire could've roared to twice its size, and Pyro could've taken his prank one step further and committed murder. From the sound of him, he could've murdered some human visitors out of sheer malice, could've set the school ablaze if he really wanted, could've-

But whatever happened I'd still be perfectly fine, perfectly alive and unharmed. After all, I walked out of the infirmary before anyone else, and I with the most injuries to speak for. That's the kind of thought that would've fascinated me before, something to keep me up at night imagining the applications of such a gift. Now it's like a nightmare. I could just as easily stand up and walk over the corpses of my friends, my non-human friends, and be pointed out as the most inhuman of all because what friend saves themselves over others?

I'm beginning to hate how inhuman I've become. I may collect strange abilities like postage stamps, and no, I've never thought of myself as "normal", but I've never once called into question my humanity before. I am human, this world is my home, and to be human I must be mortal. If I can't die, then what Logan said is an evil I can't avoid. Everyone must naturally die around me. Again.

I gave Logan a second chance in case it would be different with him. Someone who can't die is an ideal ally, and with him around I wouldn't have to be alone before I went. I didn't want to be haunted through my disorder, so I gambled away the only real asset I-

Everyone includes Matt and Vince.


	16. Chapter 16

Xavier exits Cerebro in an anxious state. The team is away and he's done his best to contact them, but there was far too much telepathic interference for his liking. For weeks he's been watching for any sign of The Brotherhood in order to pinpoint their whereabouts. Earlier tonight he noticed a small group of them on the move in Virginia. A university there recently released some controversial studies in mutant genetics, and Xavier knows it's not something a group like the brethren will take lightly. He has no doubt his team will intercept them before they reach their destination, but he has other worries at the moment.

The steady buzz of brain activity on the first floor calms him slightly. A flock of seventh graders skips past him, laughing. One of them upon noticing him skids to a halt, but he waves him on. _Just don't break anything._

He pauses his chair in front of Jean Grey's door. She's having troubles again, a nightmare here, a nightmare there. Scott sticks with her, calms her in the dead of night. Thank God for Scott. She'd be wandering and full of doubt without him.

Xavier moves on, his mind and spirit uneasy. Nearly all of the team's recent missions have shared a similar theme: the Brotherhood. They are growing; even a quiet girl could tell him that. And did he not already know? Who else but Charles Xavier knows the power of sage persuasion in a man such as Erik Lensherr? Charles always knew Erik could rally, Erik had the gift. Masses could follow him, mutants lead out of the dark and into the accepted folds of society. Yet, he chose the only model he knew for a leader, a model that had corrupted him body and soul in ways he could not see. Xavier should have seen it at least, seen the rot growing in angry, fetid coils inside his friend. Even now, he still believes there is a way to save him, yes, there has to be. No man is made that gifted, that passionate, only to use himself as a vehicle for destruction and disorder.

* * *

"Well, there was never much to me and my dad, you already know," Vince is tapping his pen against the tabletop just to irritate the prissy girl at the one next to us, "And mom, well, there was less going on with mom."

"In what way, did she hit you?"

"No, no, that would've meant noticing I existed." He shrugs, hasty to get off the subject, "Eh, she'd just drink when she was around, and some weeks she'd be gone altogether. I was the only person living in that house most of the time, 'til my kid sister showed up."

"You have a sister?"

"Half, she's not my dad's. No, they took her away when I was eleven. She was…two? I don't think she remembers me. I wasn't a good brother anyway."

We've been playing Squares to kill time until dinner. The lonely sheet of paper between us has a small rash of them invading one corner. So far we've only conquered four between us.

"So," he asks wearily, "what about you, what are your parents like?"

"They're all right." He stops tapping his pen and observes me carefully. "I know, I lied," I admit.

He starts tapping again, "They aren't as bad as mine at least?"

"I guess not, I don't know." There are too many ears in the room. I dig my pencil into the notepad, "You know when the Professor talks in your head? You think you could do that?"

He bites his cheek and gives me a silent no. "Could _you? _Maybe you'll hear me."

That's a plausible idea. I try to concentrate the way Xavier does. Vincent blinks in confusion then looks straight at me with a sort of bemused expression on his face.

"It worked?" I ask.

_I think so_, I hear him think. It sounds distant and tinny as the static between us crackles quietly around it. A little tremble of delight goes up my spine and he ducks his head in quiet excitement. _So you can't remember them?_

Mentally I stutter. Xavier's is a strange ability and it's not cooperating with me.

_ What? _He furrows his brows, _I can't hear you._

I let down my guard a little, so he might hear what I'm thinking instead. _I can't mimic Xavier's power!_

_ Jeez, you don't have to yell. _

_ Sorry, didn't know if you could hear me._

_ So, you're just thinking now?_

_ We could've been doing that all along to be honest._

He chuckles, _Okay, yeah, we could've. So, your parents?_

_ I just don't remember them. I don't remember what they looked like or sounded like or even what they smelled like. I don't remember even having parents._

_ Well, do you think they died? I mean, somebody must've raised you, right?_

Automatically my guard goes back up and it takes a minute for me to calm my nerves enough to let him in again. _They might have died. Yes, somebody raised me, but they weren't related to me. They…adopted me, essentially. They never knew my parents. _

He looks at me thoughtfully, "They good people?"

"They were. They…yeah, I really don't want to talk about this. I don't live with them anymore, I ran away."

"Well, can you tell me what they were like?"

"Orderly, and religious."

He scoffs, "I had a foster family who were religious nuts. They stopped trying to take me to church after a while though, thank god."

"Mine didn't have a church. Their worship was in the way they lived. They were logical and proud of it, yet they were also highly superstitious. They had a different spiritual reason for all my problems. I can't remember any of them turning out to be true. For instance, they thought my nightmares were caused by an evil entity who was trying to turn me on myself."

"Wow, that's a leap. Why the hell didn't you get out of that freaky place way before?"

"I believed them up until then."

"I had a school therapist once and she sounded just like that," he grins.

"I'm sure she did," I grin back, "Did she also tell you to grow your hair out like Charles Manson?"

"Oh c'mon, it's not that long," he inspects a lock of it just in case, "It's not that long."

"It's long enough. You don't get nightmares do you?"

"About _hair?_ Oh…no, I don't have any of your symptoms," he attempts to push his hair behind his ears, "I mean, I do get nightmares, but just the normal kind I guess. But if you ask the therapist I _do_ have ADD."

"Really? You're hard to distract."

"Seriously? I get distracted all the time. This morning I was looking for a pair of jeans and half an hour later I'd emptied my whole dresser looking for gum instead."

"So that's why you took forever showing up. I thought you were just sleeping in again."

"Nope, I was looking for gum," he smiles.

"You want to go check if the gym is empty?" I ask.

"Yes," he says impatiently rising up from his seat, "I'm dying here."

About a week ago we had an argument over who really won our fistfight. I told him I let him win, but he insisted that I was just backing off and he could've gone a few more rounds. So we had a rematch in the gym when no one was around. I couldn't help giving him some pointers on where he went wrong, and it ended up turning into more of a lesson than a rematch.

Right now, I'm trying to teach him as much as I can before the school year starts again and we don't have any time. He's not as light as me when it comes to footwork, but he's picking it up and gaining on me in every fight. He's more like a boxer than a martial artist, all his power is in his shoulders and upper torso giving him some killer swings. As untrained as he is, Vincent is pretty admirable in his ability. I don't know how long he's been fighting, whether it started when he stood up to his dad, or if he only started a little while ago, but he's good at it.

Whenever he makes a mistake he gets suddenly angry and ashamed. I try not to pry at the mental wound he's battling as I guide him away from whatever murky area he's tripping into. Sometimes I swear he starts to visualize his opponent. He'll work himself to death trying to take out a mirage, so that I have to consistently block him or pin him down until he regains a bit of composure. I remind him he needs to use his energy in the fight and not on his anger. Like gunning it too hard up a steep hill, anger can be a driving force, but it burns all the life out of you and makes you slow and weak just in time for the return attack. It's always better to fight with a level head. Vincent seems to listen, but his internal struggle is painful to watch. I don't know who it is he sees when he fights, but I wish I could beat their brains out for him.

"Ow!" my head slams against the mat.

"Whoa, I didn't mean to hit you that hard!"

"It's fine, you just caught me off balance. That's a good thing to remember though."

"Right, right, get 'em when they're off balance, what're you doing this Friday?"

It takes me a second to realize there was a question at the end of that, "Um, I'm not sure, Danger probably."

"Man, you're _always _in there."

"Sorry, but I've never had this much time to practice before. Why do you ask anyway?"

"Oh, um, no reason…that Bourne movie will be playing in the lounge. Thought we could go see it."

"I don't know what that is."

"It's action, it's good," he moves just out of reach of my high-kick, "It's about this guy who wakes up with no memory-"

He grabs the heel of my foot on my second kick, and forces me back. I land on the palms of my hands and immediately jab the heel of my other foot into his knee. He teeters forward as his locked knee stops his advance. I sit up quickly and use the added force in an uppercut. He closes his eyes for the blow, but as it lands softly I can't help but giggle.

"I'm not gonna kill you, Vin."

"Hehe, yeah but you could if you tried huh?" he steps back carefully, giving me a hand as I get up, "Then again, maybe we shouldn't watch Bourne. I mean, I've already got you."

"Oh what, and you can't handle any more? I'm already too much for you, huh?"

"Yeah," he laughs quietly, "yeah, too much."

* * *

I hurtle through the leaves, sweat streaked and lagging. My pursuers are hot on my tail and their fingers occasionally snag in my hair or on a bit of my uniform. I yelp as I'm finally dragged down. A long, glimmering knife is wielded above my head as gloved hands and heavy boots pin me down. The rest of them emerge from the undergrowth as the blade is held to my throat. Four of them stick around as four more are ordered to join the others.

"Keep your eyes wide open and shoot if you see movement, there could be more of them!" the man holding my legs shouts. "Why isn't she dead yet?"

I phase out of their grip with the knife in hand and tear off, wishing he hadn't sent the other four away. With them close behind once more, I jump over the goal ditch in the dark and they all slip down its steep edge it as planned. I run along its edge for thirty feet before jumping across once more and heading into the jungle.

I slow my pace enough to step quietly around the noisy leaves and gnarled roots in my path. I get to the thin clearing only to see that he's already escaped, footprints in the area telling me he had help. With a heavy sigh I bury the blade of the knife into the moist dirt at the foot of a tree. I don't have time to inspect the trap; I know what the weakness was anyway. My opponent wasn't meant to stick around long enough to find it, but if those four hadn't doubled back and released him- No matter, I just have one more guy to track down now. This is getting ridiculous.

The burnt remnants of the laboratory crackle under my feet as I listen for movement. The building was empty and blazing when I got here; a small outpost with a faulty wiring system most likely. It's been snapping and smoldering for the better part of this assignment, but I have yet to discover what purpose it serves since I didn't program it. In fact, I didn't program anything beside the number of opponents I'd have. The Danger Room is allowed some freedom with how things will go if you don't give it strict guidelines. I practically ask it to surprise me.

I move along as noisily as I wish over an area of shattered glass, crunching and clinking under my feet. I kick a large chunk of blackened insulation out of my way and watch as it crumples in a nearby wad of flame. A part of the building collapses in my wake, sending a small ripple of anxiety up into my ribcage, but I brush it away.

Suddenly my body burns. I jump forward into cooler air and turn around as the flame suddenly rises an amazing sixty feet into the air. Gas line? But there was no explosion. There were bottles of chemicals lying around as well, but none of them could've created such a- I hiss and jump back as the debris next to me spits and catches a bare bit of skin. Danger is playing games. I let my hands ice up, hoping I won't need them since no matter how hard I try I cannot master Bobby's ability. I wasn't built to withstand fire.

The shooting starts and the flame expands outward, enveloping the entire building. I drop to the ground as the bullets begin to fly and ricochet off a burst, metal water tank. This was stupid, this was stupid. I _grab _a piece of the tank lying ten feet away from me and drag it over. It clatters and scuffs against the concrete. When it's an inch away I let go, and lace it with a coat of ice which sizzles off immediately. An entire wall crashes a few feet away from me sending up a thick cloud of dust and smoke. I close my eyes and cover my mouth and nose immediately as it washes over me, bits and pieces of rubble falling across my body. I don't have time for the metal to cool.

I grab the edge of it and get on my knees. The metal hisses and hardens in my hand, melting away the ice over my skin faster than I can possibly produce it as my water resources are rapidly depleting. I rise to a crouch, holding my makeshift shield between me and the gunfire, and keeping my balance as each gunshot rattles my bones. There's only one opening in the flame that I can see and I charge toward it. Rubble rolls and skids under my feet, tripping me up, and I make it halfway across the glass before I slip completely. With a frustrated moan I get right back on my feet, the shards falling away from me or digging into my palms as I continue to carry the hot sheet of metal. The shooting stops abruptly and I feel I've been given a very short window of opportunity. I drop the heavy shield, the skin of my hands healing slowly, and put all my strength into my final sprint. I'm a dozen feet from the opening when out of the corner of my eye I see a final piece of wall begin its slow descent directly into my path. The static surges and screams around me as I hear the brain activity of my opponents suddenly very close by. I yell and throw my hands up at the wall while still running, a flood of adrenaline shooting through me. As if suddenly pushed by a giant's finger, the wall is thrown violently backward. I leap through the opening just as the flames close around me and leap into the surrounding tree line.

There's an angry shout as the last of the men trample after me, firing when they can. I just barely stay in sight, enough to keep them following me. I don't think they've even noticed the flames chasing us they're so intent on killing me. I do take a hit, one that makes me bite down on my lip to stifle a scream. The taste and smell of blood send me out of my body and tell me the urgency is high. The jungle becomes brighter with the fire following us. I don't know what to do if they break off to avoid it. I have to get them to that ditch, or kill them, or something, in order to get out of here. It doesn't count if the room does it for me.

Several of them do break off and run ahead into the jungle. With a shout of dismay I leap over the ditch and keep running, listening for the five splashes as the remaining men fall in. Turning back I force my telepathy to stretch into that jungle and tell me where the retreaters went, only to see with my eyes that it's too late. The fire smokes and steams against the edge of the ditch, licking the wet dirt and crackling at the few leaves it finds. Trees collapse with great resonance, leaving the ground trembling as they fall. My exhausted lungs won't take me any further and I slip ungracefully down the slick bank this side of the ditch and into the mud. It's too late.

So, why hasn't the simulation ended yet? I lay gasping as the destruction roars silently above me in the humidity. Sparks and ash fall against my face, leaving hot kisses on my skin. I knead the mud between my fingers and slide into the deeper part of the water to let my body heal for a while. I close my eyes and try to focus one last time on the number of survivors, but my mind is tired too it seems, for all I receive is empty static.

A minute later I become vaguely aware of sloshing steps coming toward me. It doesn't register for a second, so I scramble to my feet just as a flashlight blares into my blinking eyes. Too late again, the flashlight is attached to a deadly looking gun barrel.

"I found her!" it shouts. To me it says, "Don't move."

I should, but the mud is so inviting and my legs are like jelly, and my lungs would rather I fell down and died. I disobey him in part and collapse at the knees, huffing as my lungs recover from this sudden movement. The sound of many men sloshing towards me causes me to look up. Do I have to die for this session to be over? The light is lowered and in the reflection of many flashlights off the disturbed surface of the filthy water I can see about twenty tired faces all looking at me. And then it occurs to me, I programmed twenty men. There are at least that number here. "Did you _all _make it?"

There's a complete silence from the group, no individual thoughts from any of them- the Danger Room doesn't get _that _creative- and I begin to think I wasn't in charge at all.

"You saved us."

It isn't until they've all melted away in a digitized aura that that statement starts to sink in. It always happens that way it seems.

* * *

"MWAH!" Son leaves a big, smacky kiss on my cheek, "Go ahead, complain about it!"

"You're like a big dog sometimes," I comply as I wipe my cheek, "and you look burnt, what've you been up to?"

"Chasin' tail on the beach!" he says lyrically, "And it's not _burnt_, it's called a _tan._"

"Maybe to someone who's already tan, but on you it just looks burnt."

"Wow, now I know why I didn't miss you."

I punch him in the gut, "Well good! Cuz' I didn't miss you either!"

He chuckles while holding his stomach and eyeing me curiously, "Okay, what've _you_ been doing? You got your own _burn_, I see."

"No, see I tan," I poke his cheek and it leaves a white mark, "Man, how recently were you in the sun?"

"I don't know, but am I peeling yet? It's not a real burn until you can peel it."

"And now I'm not touching you," I vigorously wipe my hands off on my shorts. We carry his luggage up the stairs to his room as he gives me a brief overlay of his vacation.

"No seriously, have you been out-and-about because you sound different," he asks. With his arms full he butts his head against his dorm door and it shudders open. I can't see in from this angle, all I see is him throwing his bags through the door and shouting, "WASSUP, MA BROTHA?"

There's a quiet, miserable, "Oh for God's sake," from Dylan before Son slams the door shut again. He chuckles proudly,

"That guy hates me."

* * *

_First Day of Fall Classes 2007_

Logan, harried and cranky as schooldays usually make him, surprised me this morning by ruffling my hair as he passed me in the hall. Vincent managed to sleep through breakfast which avoided me having to introduce him to Son right away.

Son actually spent most of his early morning rehashing with old friends and I sat alone at my usual table. We have English and Physics together, and we plan on seeing each other in study hall, so he'll have plenty of time to talk at me the rest of the year.

At lunch he's still making the rounds, and again I'm alone at a patio table with a soggy salad and nothing worthwhile to throw in the fountain. That's when Vincent finally shows up, sits in Son's seat, and raises his eyebrow at me.

"Why the heck are you sitting out here, it's horrible." Vincent's hair is frazzled at the ends thanks to the humidity.

"Hey, someone finally got a haircut!" I say.

"Eh, I don't want to talk about it."

"Yeah, I already know it was Logan. Did you pee your pants? I've heard he only cuts half your hair if you don't pee your pants at some point."

"_No_, I did not pee my _pants_. You know he wouldn't do that anyway."

"Actually, I can definitely see him doing it for kicks. But he did use his claws?"

"Oh yeah. I kept thinkin' he was about to take an ear off too. Whose stuff is th-? Oh, don't tell me the Living Radio is here."

Out of the corner of my eye I see Son heading towards us. I don't need to hear his thoughts to know what he thinks of this. Vince can hear him though, "Don't worry, I'll get out of your chair, but first, why do they call you _Son?_"

Son sets his books down on the table. "I don't know, why do I feel the urge to call you-"

"Knock it off," I snap, "both of you." This is off to such a good start.

Vince glowers at Son, "Up yours, trust fund."

Son grits his teeth and the two stare each other down.

"Oh, just kiss already," I say disgustedly, borrowing a euphemism from Logan. Son unwisely breaks eye contact long enough to grimace at me, and I immediately grab Vince's wrist as he's about to hit him.

"Hey! Cut it out," I tell him sternly.

He jerks his arm away, "Whatever you say, bosslady."

"Cut it out," I repeat looking him in the eye to make sure he understands. He clenches his jaw and his next move should be to get up and find another chair, but he stays in place.

Son groans in annoyance as I pull up another chair. He sits down and slides his food over to his side of the table, purposely knocking it against Vincent's. I steal his drink to get his attention, "_Behave_."

We spend lunchtime in stony silence until the bell rings for sixth period and we part ways. My next class is shared with Vince so he walks alongside me slouched and disgruntled, his thoughts tumbling around in angry tones.

_Please don't fight with him. _I ask.

_Are you still telling me what to do?_

_ No, I'm asking you…please. _

He swears under his breath and I can hear his heartbeat suddenly pick up. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, "Yeah, okay. It's just…why do you put up with that guy? He's just using you to make other girls jealous."

"If that were the case he could've picked up any cute thing to parade around, but instead he kind of just tolerates me, a girl who punches him and tells him he's stupid."

"That's what I mean because to a guy like him, I mean, you're really not his type. And, I don't really see him as being yours, you know, you guys are, are…different. Normally, I'd think you _like_ him, but you're not normal."

"Thanks for that."

"Not normal is a good thing."

"Uh-huh, why is my friendship with him such an aggravating subject with you?"

"Forget it."

"No, really?"

"It's just- never mind."

"Look, I've never known how to make friends. To be honest, I've never tried. I don't know what he, or even you, sees in me. I mean, I'm _not_ normal. I've always been this weird, and it never bothered me before, but-"

_Ace, stop talking._

_ Why? Oh, no, Vincent. We can't just talk like this all the time._

_ Why not? Do you want every kid with extra hearing listening in? So, tell me what's up, you've been acting really…weird, for a week now. Did you have another nightmare or something?_

_ No, no, it wasn't-, _I sigh, _it was Danger. I let the program some slack and it- It was probably nothing, but it jarred me a little how it ended._

_ How'd it end?_

_ Oddly. I ended up _rescuing_ all my opponents. Danger created a forest fire and basically forced me to rescue them._

He kind of smiles in amazement, "You saved people from a forest fire?"

"In a digital simulation. It's the same as saving people in a videogame, it doesn't count."

"Yeah, but you didn't just press a few little buttons and make somebody else do all the work. From what you showed me that one time you have to actually get _in_ there. What about that freaked you out?"

"Nothing, I'm not- let's just drop it."

"Alright- hey, have you had class with Scott yet?"  
"No, that's after school, and I'm still not looking forward to it."

"You'll do fine, just…don't get into any fights," Vincent winks.

* * *

"Ace!"

I scrunch up my shoulders as Logan approaches.

"You don't need to yell at her," Scott intervenes, "it went fine."

"No one asked you, Slim." Logan glares at me, "What'd you do?"

I bite my tongue and try to repress my building anger. "We weren't fighting-"

"I asked what you did, not what you didn't do," Logan interrupts.

"Logan, she was _fine_," repeats Scott stonily, "there was a mishap, but she and Terry pulled through it."

"Then I'm not talking about that am I?" snaps Logan, "_She _knows what I'm talking about."

Scott looks between us and I more or less indicate that I do. Once he's gone, Logan continues to glower at me, "Kid, what're you doing?"

"Nothin'."

"That ain't true, talk to me."

During the lesson I let myself get in too deep just to see if I could take it. Terry, misreading the situation, blew the trouble away with one of her magnificent screams. Unfortunately, she got a little carried away herself and since nobody had told her about my sensitive hearing, I went down before my opponents did. I awoke to Cyclops propping me up as my eardrums took their delicate time to heal causing me to miss out on most of the class.

"I didn't do anything," I shrug.

Logan grits his teeth, and taking me by the shoulder leads me down the hall to the hangar bay. Before the door has sealed shut behind us he begins.

"I know you've decided not to care what happens to you, but you scared your teammates. First day in and you've already done something hotheaded and selfish. You put Terry in danger, you made Scott babysit you-"

"Hey, it would've been fine if somebody had told her not to scream around me-"

"It wouldn't have been fine, she did it because she _cared_. And she's still getting used to her powers so she gets that excuse, but you? You knew better. When you're on a team you do not make yourself a problem and make everyone else carry your weight as well-"

"Holy crap, Logan, you think I've never been on a team before?! I know how to work on a team, I get the point I just _hate _it."

"So you hate this team?"

"I hate being on it!"

"So you would willingly put everyone else in jeopardy just because you don't want to be on the team, huh? It's a little temper tantrum is it?"

"It works for you, dammit! You and Scott are always fighting over something-"

"I don't make life difficult for my team! I don't use my ability to get into scrapes I can't get back out of I use it to get my _teammates _out of scrapes. You make sacrifices for the people you're with!"

"Well I'm _done _making sacrifices! I'm _done _with teamwork and I'm _done _with looking out for people who can't take care of themselves! What have they ever done for me?"

"What _haven't_ we done for you?!"

"I'm not- I'm not talking about- forget it, I'm done caring about this!"

He grabs my arm as I storm towards the door and wrenches me back, "No more of _this_, Ace. No more hidden problems you can't talk about because _you don't want to_. I've had it up to here with your excuses. You're tired of looking out for people smaller than you? Are you? Well heads up, bub, everyone is smaller than you and the day you realize you've been given something they haven't-"

"Are you kidding me? You think I don't? You're the one who put me in this stupid class in the first place, and I still don't know what it is you're trying to accomplish. Are you trying to buff me up for the X-Men or something?"

"I'm _trying _to make you a decent human being, something you seem incapable of!"

"Yeah? Well look who's trying! When was the last time you considered _yourself _a decent human being, Logan? Yeah, I've got problems and fine, I _am _a problem! But none of that has to be your business, okay? If I should know better than some kid not to let my powers get away from me then give me some credit and let me run my own life without you constantly trying to intervene!"

"Let you live your life like you were going to when I met you at the lake two years ago? Were you going to take good care of yourself then, Ace? You've been alone for-"

"I haven't been alone, Logan! People-"

"People have been there, but they're dead now aren't they? Is that it? Is that what you won't tell anyone, what you've kept clammed up this whole damn time? Nobody stood up for you for a long time and then they weren't there at all? Well that really sucks, kid, but you're not alone now, and I can't seem to make that clear to you. No one here, or on that team is going to up and die any time soon _unless you let them_."

I stagger back. My stupid face gets ready to cry but I make it scowl instead, forcing the damn tears back as my face grows hotter. "Who do you think I am? Some kind of hero? I can't protect them, I can't protect anyone. _You _know that. If a bomb hit the school right now who'd be left standing?"

His face is hard as granite, "It wouldn't have to be just us."

"Yes, but…we could never save _all _of them. You….these are your kids, this is your family. If I get too close…I'll just…" I clench my fists and bite down on my lip as hard as I can, "I'm not ready for any team, Logan."

He swears thickly under his breath and starts searching for a cigar. He hates to concede, "You don't have to be in the damn class, alright? But you can't keep backing away from things that scare you- No," he points a finger at me, "you're scared. I know you're capable of being on a team, you just work better alone, I understand that better than anybody. But don't back away from something because your past tells you to. You're not living there anymore."

One tear I couldn't quite hold back leaves a hot trail down my cheek, "You make it sound so easy."

* * *

"Are you guys up there again?"

Vin groans, "So much for that."

"It's just Son," I say, wiping my eyes.

"Yeah, I know."

I slide down the shingles and dangle a hand over the window. At the sound of Son's approaching footsteps I crawl back. Vince is entirely tense. "What is so wrong with him, Vin?"

"He just picks shi- _bad _times to come looking for you."

The top of Son's head appears over the gable and in the comedic way only his eyes are visible. I start laughing, a slightly painful relief.

"She's gonna roll off and die if you don't say something depressing soon, Vince."

"She wouldn't die if she fell off, dude," scowls Vince.

"That should do it."

"Oh shut up, both of you. Son, what do you want to do? Fountain?"

He gives a wobbly thumbs up before ducking back into the safety of the building. I punch Vince in the leg and we both crawl back down.

"So, you're still in the class at least?" Vin asks quietly.

"Yeah. I kind of owe it to Logan to at least try."

"Plus, you really like the Danger Room," he replies slyly.

At the bottom of the gable stairs Son leans against the wall testing out a new song. "How'd you guys find this place anyway?"

"We looked," says Vincent drily. I back kick him when I can afford the balance, but he dodges it.

It's still the first day of trying this out, but I wonder if Vincent will ever get used to Son. It's a class struggle, nothing to it. The feelings Vincent has toward him tend to be jealousy and anger. If Vincent weren't displaying these qualities, Son would be more inclined to like him. He dislikes making enemies.

It's a long journey back down to the first floor. There's very little conversation since every time Son starts one Vince finds some way to shoot him down. By the time we make it there Son has given up on talking and is playing music instead, while Vincent and I argue telepathically.

This side of my ability that inadvertently picks up traits is clinging to Vincent lately. We hear the same nearby thoughts and tend to notice a person's presence at the same time. This kind of synchrony makes him feel at ease. He's spent a long time feeling strange and secluded and I'm glad I can offer a reprieve. Never has one of my abilities benefited another person merely by existing before, and it makes me afraid. This is the kind of closeness I told Logan I meant to avoid.


	17. Chapter 17

The monstrous android teeters.

_"Now!"_

It fires at one of my teammates, fires a pulsing blast capable of incinerating any target. In a hurried instant, I deflect the blast telekinetically. It slams explosively into an empty acre of dirt leaving a black scorch mark in its wake.

"Dangit," I mutter.

"Try again," Scott orders as he blasts at the giant to distract it. Everyone falls back into place helping to hedge it in on all sides to keep it from swiveling around too much.

Jubilee sighs in annoyance as she passes by me, popping her bubblegum, "Keep up."

Vanishing, I carefully follow in her footsteps as she places herself in view of the giant. Her hands crackle with a sparkling energy, brilliant colors dancing on her fingertips.

"Hey! Big boy!" she shouts. I move in front of her before the red hot beam shoots from the machine's open hand. Using all my strength and concentration, I hurtle the beam back. It catches the metal giant in its face, leaving a smoking crater where his nose used to be. The kids on the other side shout and scatter as the behemoth crashes to the ground.

I reappear and look over my shoulder at Jubilee. She just shrugs and casually pops another bubble.

* * *

"…an aye told him to stuff et." Terry and I giggle at her joke as we walk back to the locker room. Outside the boys' locker room, Logan and Scott are having a peaceful discussion when Logan catches my eye, "Hang on a sec."

Terry tilts her head and makes an "O" with her lips, "Someone's in tr'ble." I shake my head and she grins, "See you letter then."

I stand off to the side of my instructors' conversation waiting patiently. My suit is sticky and hot, and my hair won't stop falling in my face. I keep blowing at it and brushing it away, but it's gotten ornery lately.

"You talk to him, then. Alright, kid, c'mon."

"I haven't changed yet," I protest.

"You don't need to, c'mon."

Logan leads me back into the house where I get a few stares from underclassmen who've never seen the uniforms before. After that, the two of us walk out to the lawn, then down the path past the stable house, and off into the woods. As it becomes apparent that this is going to be a long walk, I'm tempted to ask where we're going, so I can judge whether or not it's going to be worth it; but don't see the need to pester Logan right now since I'm tired enough as it is. However, the woods are lovely this time of year. The age-old elms and maples tower over us, branches shaking hands with each other like old friends meeting again after a long separation. Their tall, slim trunks rise elegantly, and I can hear the sap coursing through them. Between the layers of brilliant red and orange leaves I can glimpse the frothing thunder clouds roiling up above, having a reunion of their very own.

"Recognize this place?"

Logan has come to a sudden stop amidst a few old elms and a lonely oak. I sniff the air up and down, but can't find what he's talking about.

"Imagine it's been raining for a while," he helps.

I try to, recalling the smell of slick loam and damp bark, and the sound of a light drizzle pattering against dying leaves. A dull cramp comes to my stomach. This is the exact spot I ran to during that worst nightmare last fall. Removing myself from the reverie I walk over to a wide, low bush squatting between two trees. There's still a snug hollow cradled beneath it.

"It's less stressful in the daytime," I say.

"It doesn't need to bother you, darlin'. You've come far in a year. Despite a few setbacks, things other kids have tripped over again and again, you've pushed on harder than I gave you credit for, and for that I'm proud of you." He steps to my side and rests a supporting hand on my shoulder, "So, what's this year going to be like, eh?"

A quiet, angry breeze tentacles through the trees, stirring up small whirls of yellow leaves and pulling deftly at the ends of my hair. I stare at the bush for a moment without answering, waiting for the wind to move on. I kick brown leaves into the hollow and sniff.

Logan huffs in approval, "Thatta girl."

* * *

"So…this isn't somehow punishment for not calling you all summer is it?" Son looks at me with pleading eyes, "I, I meant to-"

"Son, I am not broken up over you not calling, and no, Vincent is not a punishment. Besides you were eager to meet him when he first enrolled."

"Yeah, but, then he turned out to be a jerk, am I right?"

"He's just, he's got reasons, let's leave it at that," I nod at the stack of textbooks in front of him, "How's that going?"

He just sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, "I don't know, it's going. I really shouldn't be talking right now."

Xavier's school could never be accused of taking education lightly. Senior year is eating up all of Son's social time, and to make matters more hectic his father lowered his monthly stipend in response to an "unacceptable" B- last spring. I don't know how I would react had that happened to me, but Son's been obediently studious in bringing his grades back up.

"I should go then," I pick up my things.

"Hm? Oh, um, yeah, yeah. I'm sorry again."

"Not a problem," I get up from my seat, "just do good."

He gives me a friendly smile when I swat his arm, then buries himself in his work again.

I drop my books off in my room, put on a sweater, then turn invisible and phase through the door. I don't reappear until I'm safely in the hidden gable, not one-hundred percent sure our visits to the roof go unnoticed.

Vincent smiles happily when he sees me and holds out a small, white box, "Junior Mint?"

"Sure." I dig one out of the strangely cool box and pop it in my mouth, "Ugh, did you freeze them?"

"Yeah! They taste better that way, you don't like it?"

"Mm, it's just surprising on a brisk day. It does actually taste good."

He yawns, "Hey, I saw you and Logan outside today during math. What's up, he mad at you again?"

"Oh, er, he wanted to talk to me about something, it was nothing."

"You looked mad."

"I did? Huh, I might've just been tired. Danger was rough today."

Vincent sort of grunts and drops the subject. He's not saying what he's really thinking and I find it aggravating. With Xavier's help he's gotten clever at keeping his thoughts quieter. On the other hand, I've discovered I can dig a little deeper into the psyche to find things just beneath the surface. I don't plan on infiltrating unsuspecting minds, however, that would be a whole other kind of wrong.

"Are you in my head?" Vincent asks suspiciously.

"Don't flatter yourself." I settle my back against the slant of the roof, using my sweater as a pillow.

"How far do you think you can go? With your powers I mean."

"Not sure. Sky's the limit with some of 'um, and then some of them give me vertigo."

He sniffs, "Think you'll ever be as good as the Professor when it comes to telepathy?"

"The Professor hears peoples' thoughts every hour of every day, so no, I hope I'm never as good as him. How's it coming along with you, any advancements?"

He scrunches his face, "Meh, 'bout the same."

"And self-defense class?"

"Summers is a jerk."

"What'd he do this time?"

"He- Okay, it was the other kid's fault, right? And-"

"You got in a fight?"

"No, look, this jerk's standing on the mat where he isn't supposed to be and I'm throwing punches, and I hit him. He wasn't supposed to be there in the first place, but then he blames _me_. Summers's always telling us 'stay off the mat during a demonstration', but then cusses me out for the other kid's stupidity and takes his side! In the end, _I'm _the one getting detention."

"_Again?_ It was an accident so what do you have detention for- You mouthed off again didn't you? Vince, you have detention _every _weekend now, it's getting ridiculous! I can't see Son because he's studying, and I can't see you because you're being punished."

"Yeah? Then tell it to Shades, like he'll even care. Nobody ever believes I could possibly _not_ be to blame."

"Vin, whether you like it or not the world isn't out to get you."

"Then what am I doing here?"

"No, not this again."

"If the world weren't full of mutant-hating fagheads-"

"You can't change the world by being angry at it, Vincent, or by taking it out on Summers. I know you, you won't even _try _to deal reasonably with anybody of authority, and it's getting on my nerves. Can't you see it's not working out for you?"

"Screw this," Vincent mutters getting up, "If you don't believe me, then no one else can."

"Where are you going? Vincent."

"Hey, you think you could stand by me for once? I _know _what I'm talking about, Ace. If it weren't for the Professor's _charity _I'd be back in Queens in the dumpster they call a court system, sitting on my ass waiting for some skuzzy, racist social worker to decide whether I belong in Foster care or jail. Somehow with me the jail card always gets top deck, always. _Black_ kids get better deals than me because I'm a freakin' _mutant_! It must be _Christmas _for them being on top for once. I can't stay here my whole life, Ace, and neither can you, neither can any of us. The world would like it if we just stayed in one place like this, but we can't do everything for them can we? We've got to decide for once what _we _want and not leave it up to them because they don't give a fuck!"

He stands there with his heart racing and his head full of hot air. I pull my zipper up higher and my knees closer, "Maybe you should sit down before you fall off, Vincent. It's worn out where you're standing, you could slip easy."

He looks around him, brows bent, hands trembling, then carefully walks back.

* * *

_October 2007_

"You go, Glen Coco!"

I take the leering jack-o-lantern sucker when the teacher's aide hands it to me. Matt's name is written in quick cursive on the back of the attached note, and I open it just in case he actually wrote a message though I don't expect one. Just the fact that he took a few minutes out of study time to sign a dozen or so candy grams for every girl he likes is pretty generous all things considered.

At breakfast the next day, a Saturday, I find him with his books unopened, feet up, a lazy cup of coffee in one hand, and a dreamy smile on his face. Vincent is sitting across from him mumbling away about something. Lately, they've managed to remain somewhat civilized toward each other in the way two dogs remain civil while the bone sits between them and nobody moves for it. Vincent has also avoided receiving any further detention slips.

"Camaro, Camaro, Camaro," he chants as he pounds his fists against the tabletop, causing ripples in his chocolate milk.

"Streamlined, moves in all the right ways, classy and slutty at the same time," muses Son, "Absolutely necessary in any man's life."

"I take it we're talking about cars?" I ask as I sit down. I've gotten used to this kind of talk from Vincent who has pictures of muscle cars taped in the back of his notebook.

"He is," Son jerks his chin at Vince, "I'm talking about Meg."

I look at Vince.

"Megan Fox, the actress in last night's movie," he answers, then with frustration, "Damn, she's gorgeous!"

"Heck yeah, I need one of those," replies Son.

"Still talkin' 'bout the car," says Vin.

I stab a piece of pancake, "I take it I missed an important movie night?"

"Oh sweet, '79 Oldsmobile, you know I still love you," croons Vince to his cradled hands, "but I need to get me a _Bumblebee_."

"I was a little disappointed when she fell for Louis Stevens," continues Son, both of them too caught up in their male fantasies to notice me.

"Who the heck is Louis Stevens?" asks Vince.

"You never watched that show?" Son tips his head back with a contented sigh, "That was an awesome movie."

"Agreed," replies Vincent, then to me, "It was Transformers, by the way."

"Yeah, I saw the flyers. Anyway," I sigh, "You finish your homework?"

"Almost," Vince searches through his battered folder, "I didn't get number twelve. Or thirteen…okay, none of _those_ did I get."

Son drops his feet skillfully before a cafeteria monitor notices, "Hey, I have a history question I was wondering if you could help me with too."

"Sure, hang on," I say as I go over Vincent's homework.

"Oh man," Son leans forward, "that part at the beginning when she leans over the hood of the car."

"She opens the hood, she leans over the engine," Vincent willfully corrects, "Yeah, she was pretty hot there. But, dude, women like that just don't exist."

"Heck yeah they do! Cali is filled with 'em."

"Okay, those girls _were on vacation, _they don't seriously live there."

"Yeah, what would you know you've never met a hot girl."

"I have too!" Vincent laughs, "Okay, what about the hot girls here, huh? You're always hitting on chicks you've got to think at least one of them is hot."

"Yeah, but, they're high school hot, I'm talking-"

"There are Megan Fox hot girls here too, Son."

"Name one."

"I- wha- I can't just _name _a girl, I'm just saying there-"

"I haven't seen a single Megan Fox look-a-like here."

"If I hear that name one more time," I interject, "I'm going to _throw_ your books across the room and make it look like you guys did it, understood?"

Vincent sheepishly clears his throat as Matt hands me his largest book and says, "Megan Fox."

* * *

_ I'm back again. My cloth boots move noiselessly over the red carpets of the long hallways. Every room, vestibule, corridor, and closet is as empty and lifeless as it was when I left. I couldn't even imagine ghosts here, it's so lonely. _

_ I haven't run into _him _yet, but these are the dreams he appears in, these are the corridors that become narrow and lead me nowhere as I run from him in terror. By this point I should already be nervous since I know he's looking for me, but for some reason this time I'm an inexplicable calm. _

_ "Have you been to the cafeteria yet?" Vincent asks._

_ "Not yet. What are they serving?" He shrugs. I nod, "You should hide, he'll show up soon."_

_ "I'm not going anywhere. I'd get lost anyway."_

_ I hear another person somewhere in one of the hallways leading off this main corridor. I look Vincent in the eye and gesture towards a closed door, a place for him to hide. He pretends not to notice, instead focusing on the ornate patterns in the ceiling. Actually they're beautiful. Was I always too busy to notice them before? How strange it is to know you've walked under such craftsmanship practically your whole life, but never once looked up. _

_ He appears finally at the end of the hallway, eyes burning as he stares me down, daring me to run._

_ "This is it, I have to run now," I tell Vince. But he doesn't respond, just keeps staring at those designs like he's a critic or something, "Vince, get going!"_

_ I go to push him away, but my enemy is suddenly at my side and that much closer to Vincent. I can't have that. I shove him away, startling him, and kick him sharply in the shin. His weapon is out immediately and he swings at me. I jump back and he swings again then abruptly turns back to Vincent. In two short sweeps he managed to separate us, and I let it happen. My anger rises in an instant. I hate this man._

_ Vincent falls limply to the ground and I rush his attacker. I slam my fist into my enemy's diaphragm and another into the back of his neck only to feel his blade bury itself in my leg. In response, I lean all my weight into him as he yanks the blade out and tries with sudden desperation for a more fatal hit. The tip of the blade slips and slides over my metal skin, an ability I'm suddenly completely capable of. With effort I manage to pin his hand against the wall and crush it until finally he drops his weapon._

_ Grabbing him by his cloak and with my bad leg sweeping his legs out from under him, I drag him kicking and seething into the main hall as though dragging a venomous snake by its tail. I throw my enemy to the ground and power down. He looks at my impossibly healed leg with an astonishment I can't recall ever being on his face before. He fails to notice as his weapon flies into my hand and is raised high above our heads._

_My point of view suddenly switches to Vincent who's returned to consciousness. He lifts himself gently off the floor and together we watch as the blade travels down in one swift movement…_

The carpet is rough against my cheek. Once I realize I'm only outside the door of my own bedroom my heart stops beating so fast. It doesn't matter how real it seemed, I was home the whole time. I have half a mind to go to Vincent's dorm just to check on him, my heart fervently telling me this is indeed the thing to do. My brain wins out, reasoning that I'll have to wait until morning to make sure Vincent is alright, which he undoubtedly will be.

With a tired groan I crawl back into bed quickly, tucking myself in tight as the chill, winter-tinged air tries to sneak in with me. As sleep knocks at my door, one warm and pleasant thought lulls me back to that fading world. _I win._

The next morning I tackle Vince in the hallway. "Hey!"

"Hey!" he smiles unsurely at me over his shoulder, "What're you doing?"

"I was just looking for you."

"Really? I was just talking with Son." Ever since movie night, Son and Vince are thick as thieves. They came to the _stunning _realization that they both like fast cars and hot women. I could hit them for being so stupid the last couple months.

"What's he up to?"

Vince shrugs, "Same-old, same old. He likes knowing who likes who, thinks he's good at guessing them. Why were you looking for me?"

_I had one of my dreams last night, only you were in it this time._

_ Get out of town, seriously? What happened?_

I give him a brief outline of events without telling too much. He looks at me brightly as I describe the end. "Damn. He can't come back now, huh?"

"I hope not. At least, they can't ever be as bad again, right?"

He smiles broadly and gives me an unusual hug. I can feel he's happy for me, genuinely happy. I hug him back and swallow this hot feeling rising in my chest. _Don't get too close._

"I hope they go away forever," he says in an unusually kind voice. He seems to have a sudden attack of nerves as he brushes a hair out of my face. Goose pimples pucker around the base of his throat and he pulls his hand back.

"I hope so too. You helped you know," I say jokingly, even though it's true, "I wouldn't have fought him off if you hadn't been there."

"Er, yeah. Hehe, hey, um- I wanted to, I wanted to ask you somethi-"

"WASS- Ow!"

"_Right _in my ear! Be glad that wasn't a set of claws."

Son rubs his elbowed rib, "_Ow_. Good morning to you too, _PMS_- Ow, geez! Hey, did I just see you two hugging?" he asks looking at Vincent.

"Are you going to read into it like you do every human interaction on campus? I'll spoil it for you, no, Vincent and I do not have a crush on each other. Now," I turn back to Vince, "You were saying?"

"Ahem, hey Vin, class, now," Son puts on his mock serious face. _You are so obvious._

"Who's obvious?" I ask.

Son looks a little startled, "Who-? Oh, crud you haven't started picking up his power now have you?" he demands, "You guys are so freakin' creepy sometimes, don't read my mind!"

"Hey, I didn't do it on purpose!" I defend.

"Let's hope not!"

"Alright, c'mon," Vince intervenes, taking Son off my hands, "We're gonna be late."

"I'm serious, if you guys are going to be reading my mind all the time-"

"Nobody's reading your mind, bro, who would _want_ to?"

"Very funny- Oh hey, Tatiana, how're you this morning? I like your hair."

* * *

It's been an hour since last bell. I'm trying to walk down the hallway to my dorm, but Son's dragging at my arm.

"Pleeaase? I'm only getting Vin to go because I said you'd be there! C'mon, you loved it last time!"

"No way, Larson, go have fun without me this once."

"Ace," he moans and drops to his knees, fingers tight around my wrist, "please come and teach Vin how to dance so I can dance with cute girls."

"I don't think he wants to go any more than I do," I say, prying his fingers off, "Just, have fun without us and we'll see you tomorrow."

"Look, if I can't go home for Thanksgiving I'm going to the party here and I want my friends to be there with me. Alright? It's just a party and I need you guys to come."

"You have other friends, won't they be there?"

"Okay, you're my only friends who are still here. Feel better?"

"Not particularly. Look, Son-"

"Ace, listen to me, okay? This party? You coming with me to it is to make up for all the times I've had to blow you guys off so far this year. And…Ace, it's my last year. You are the best friends I have and I haven't gotten to hang out with you guys even a little."

I just stare at him, "What about the museum and shopping trips, we got to hang out then."

"…Well yeah."

"Are you trying to charm me?"

"…yes."

"What did we discover about that?"

"…you don't like it."

"And you get punched in the face, do you see where I'm going with this?"

"PLEASE!"

I sigh, "Son, get up, tantrums are highly unattractive."

He's giving me 'puppy eyes', "I just want to hang out with you guys, we don't even have to be there that long. We'll have some pie, dance a little, and then you guys can ditch me and go do whatever it is you do when you're being boring."

I think about it, "I still don't have a dress."

"That didn't hurt you last year did it? Vin doesn't have anything nice either, and it's not like I went in a tux or anything, just put on something you can dance in. Ace, I promise you'll have a great night. I promise."

* * *

I shout in dismay as he ducks under the table and sprays me in the face with a can of whipped cream. "Gotcha!"

"I am gonna-!" I turn the can back at him to compliment the whip he's already got on the tip of his nose.

"I leave you guys for _one minute_ and this is what happens?" I hear Vincent say as he returns from the buffet.

Laughing, Son resurfaces then scrambles back under, "Crap! He's got ammo!"

I return to my chair with the spray can to deck Vince, but he's already ducked under the table to get Son. _Oh crap_. I smack the tabletop and stomp my feet, "_Teacher coming!"_

They don't hear me at all of course. I deposit my smoking gun on a neighboring table and wipe down my face with a napkin as Son returns to his seat, laughing and spotted with whipped cream. Scott turns and notices the commotion just as Vincent arises from under the table with the spray can and a devious look.

"Thank you for volunteering to clean up afterwards, Detmer," Scott says sharply, snagging the spray can from Vincent's hand.

"I- wha-" Vince sputters furiously.

"It fell under the table," I blurt out, "Matt was screwing around and got some on himself, and dropped it."

"Yeah, yeah," Son joins, "I was being a retard, teach. Sorry about that."

"He didn't get any on the table or anything, just himself," I add.

Scott looks between us, not fooled in the least. Vincent is fuming. I kick him under the table as I hear one nasty thought.

"Hand me that one," Scott orders. I do as he says and hand him the spray can I'd set on the other table. "Don't let me catch you three doing it again, understood?"

Son and I nod in agreement, and I kick Vincent under the table again. Scott's shaded gaze falls on him briefly before he leaves.

Vince glares at his back, "Fuck that jerk."

"_Vincent!"_

"C'mon, man."

"You see what I'm talking about? I am always the first one blamed for crap."

"You were holding the bottle when he turned, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"You guys just think I'm nuts."

"Vin, he knows we did it too," Son reasons, "He even said 'you three' at the end there."

"Vin, I believe you," I say, "but this time was really just a misunderstanding, it wasn't a direct attack on you."

"Hey, let's dance now," Son interrupts as the music becomes more upbeat.

"Yeah, _misunderstandings _seem to happen to me way more than they do other people."

"Yeah, let's dance," I say, standing up at the same time as Son. Son backs onto the dance floor as I put my hand out to Vin.

"No way, I'm not dancing!"

"Then let me teach you," I reply. Son disappears into the fray.

Over the past year, Son has dragged me to many dances. As much as I resist, the draw is too great. I couldn't help but study everyone else as they danced, and in turn got better at it myself. Son has a girl in his arms in seconds, and Vin and I just dabble on the edge of the crowd. Vincent never quite gets the hang of it, but as much as I'd like to join the center of the group I can't just exclude him.

After an hour, however, we stumble laughingly onto the balcony, the chilly air a blessing against our burning cheeks and stinging feet. He leans heavily against the railing, gasping laughter leaving clouds of vapor before his mouth, "You're crazy."

"Hey, what you saw was tame. I can dance better than that."

"Whoa, high on yourself much?" he smiles, "Doesn't make you any less crazy."

I chuckle and shake my hair out to cool off my neck. The crisp air nips at my knees as I smooth out my borrowed skirt. "It wasn't as bad as all that was it now? You were having fun."

"I was- that was…fun," he gasps, "Oh, man I'm tired! And we've been working out!"

"You can be such a wimp," I say, smacking him on the shoulder, "What am I going to do with you?"

He chuckles quietly, shuffling his feet, "Um, uh…Can I- can I, um…kiss you?"

I look at him. "That's why?"

"Huh? Why what?"

"That's why Son wanted us to come tonight- No."

"Son- oh, okay. Um…yeah. Okay," the silhouette of his face falls. I feel a jerk of pain for him, but there's nothing I can do. I've lost control of this thing.

Back inside I drag Son off the floor and punch him hard in the arm, "What is _wrong _with you?!"

"What are you- Oh, geez, did you punch him? I thought you guys liked each other!"

"_Back off_, Matthew. You get to apologize for that."

"Did you seriously punch him?"

"_No! _I wouldn't punch Vincent, why do you keep saying that?"

"Well you punched me!" he declares, "And that's because I was being an ass! He actually _likes _you, Ace."

I just want to get out of here, "Well- then that's none of your business. Leave me alone."

I hastily curtail the chaperones at the door, and when I get the chance run as fast as I can to my bedroom. The door slams behind me and I kick off my shoes and wrench myself out of that skirt. Years, entire decades of discriminating between people and their actions, predicting their moves and emotions, and somehow I never saw this coming? How? How did I not see this coming? Why would he _do _that?


	18. Chapter 18

**I made a Pinterest page and an illustration page for this fic! The illustrations are on Tumblr, and I am doesnotloveyou on both sites.**

* * *

I climb out the open window and onto the roof. He isn't in our usual spot. I follow his trail over the slopes and turrets and find him seated on a peak hugging his knees. His emotions are conflicted, angry, humiliated. I hold back, hoping he hasn't noticed me yet. Perhaps I was better off hiding in my room.

_I'm sorry_, I whisper. He jumps, then balls himself up tighter. I take a careful step toward him. _I just didn't know what to say._

_ It was Son's stupid idea, not mine, _he mumbles, _I knew it'd tick you off._

I join him on the peak, _Well, I already yelled at him in front of his date, but we can always do it again._

"Why did you say no?" he asks suddenly, "I mean…"

"I just don't do that, I don't date."

"Why not?"

I bite my tongue and search for the moon. Overcast. "I just don't, I don't want to. Are you…going to leave now?"

He hesitates, "Do you want me to leave?"

"Of course not. I was just worried you'd stop wanting to be my friend."

"Nah," he wipes his face on his sleeve.

Snowflakes begin to flick my face, and after a minute he shakes out his hair. I rub the toe of my shoe against a loose shingle, "Look I…I know I'm not very open about- about me. I know I leave a lot of unanswered questions, but I want to get this one thing clear. You're important…to me. I don't, I don't- Crap."_This is stupid. _"Oh crap, did you hear that?"

He chews on his cheek, "Yeah."

"I'm not talking about you! It's just-"

"Just forget I asked," he stares at his knees in consternation, "it was just a dumb thing I did, a stupid, dumb thing, I didn't mean it."

We both sigh unevenly and I pull my knees closer. "Whatever."

He looks at me for a moment, then away again. The air is biting.

We return to the party with fresh faces for Son's sake, or at least I do. He's ecstatic to see us back again, and doesn't ask any questions or apologize for anything. After it's all ended and we're heading off to bed, Son grabs me by the arm and leaves a peck on my cheek.

"Somebody might as well do it," he jokes.

At this Vince darkens and disappears down the boys' hallway without another word.

* * *

"Those kids can be regular comedians sometimes," says Jean shaking her head as she turns the lock of the bedroom door.

Scott laughs drily, "Eh, well we've tried pounding it out of 'em, but it doesn't work like you think it would."

Once the door is opened, Jean takes her fiancé by the collar of his shirt and drags him in after her, leaving soft kisses down the side of his face. Willing to see how this turns out, Scott goes along with it, closing the door gently behind them.

Logan stamps into the mansion from the garage, a contraband case of beer tucked under his right arm, his left swatting snowflakes out of his hair, "Damn kids, tell 'em to close a friggin' door, might as well ask a chimp."

He continues to mutter as he makes his way down the hall, finding new cold patches in his clothes and grumbling more profusely. Then he stops and inclines his ear. The floor beneath him trembles. Cans of beer clink in upset as they are abandoned in the middle of the hallway. Logan sprints all the way to Jean and Scott's door and throws it open.

"Jean?!"

"Get the Professor!" Scott orders, his hand twisted in Jean's fingers, her knuckles white with strain as she grits her teeth. Objects in the room rattle and shake fiercely, a light reflecting off the dresser mirror bounces madly about like an insane strobe light. Logan leaves immediately, as Scott grips Jean's other hand in his as well, "It's okay, baby, I'm still here. You can control this, I _know _you can."

"What's wrong? Is she alright?" asks Storm hastily as she steps into the doorway. The mirror practically jumps off the dresser, shattering and literally sending pieces flying. Storm ducks out of the way, but a sliver of glass nicks Scott across the arm. The shaking abruptly stops.

_"Scott?"_

"It's okay, baby, I'm okay," he sits on the edge of the bed, taking her in his arms, "Sh, sh, sh, it's okay."

Storm quietly steps out to find a dustpan for the glass. A few moments later, Logan and the Professor arrive to find Jean sufficiently composed, and apologetic. Logan searches his pockets for a cigar, Storm sweeps up the broken pieces, Xavier takes Jean by the hand, and Scott stays by, his arm around her shoulder.

In the rest of the mansion students fall back asleep, never mind what might have interrupted their dreams of heroic battles and achieved romances, all but one kid who dreamed again that he was walking around the school in his underwear and is glad that nightmare ended when it did. Son, completely unaware of anything mumbles a lyric in his sleep. Vince fumbles with his pillow and tosses and turns in a bed that suddenly seems too tight and too warm. On the other side of the building, Ace sits up with her senses focused downstairs, awoken by the sound of beer cans rolling across the hardwood floor.

Everyone continues as they were.

* * *

_2 weeks later_

Vincent and I are sitting at opposite ends of the couch. Winter break begins in less than a week and I'm anxious to head out on my own again into the real world. So far I've only told him and Son. Xavier caught wind of it himself, encouraged me not to go, but didn't say no. I know someday that man's uncanny acceptance of me will have to be rewarded with answers.

"Well I did it last year," I say to Vincent, "Just go on the school trip, I've got my own places to go."

"Yeah, but last year you didn't have anyone to hang with, now you've got me, and you're still gonna leave? Why can't I come?"

"I wander, I like to travel unnoticed and see things. You just can't do that on a school trip."

"I- fine. You're gonna do your thing, just go do it."

Vincent is unusually irritable lately. He's started smoking I can smell it on him when he comes down from the roof after being up there on his own. I doubt he's new to it and know better than to ask where he gets the cigarettes from.

"Traveling gets me out of my head, Vin, I like it."

"Look I said whatever, alright? Just…y'know, be careful."

Son wanders into the room and collapses over the back of the couch, landing between us with his feet in the air. "So, this is fun. What do you ladies want to do?"

"You better be talkin' to some actual chicks, man," Vince mumbles through his fingers.

"Shouldn't you be packing?" I say taking a twist of Son's hair and tugging on it.

"Man, you two are a couple a' downers. We should go out, I've got a license, I can get us places, we'll go into town, or better yet, the city! Yeah, find a concert or something," he starts playing bouncing pop music.

"Stop," I order.

He gives me a dirty look, "Why?"

"She's got a headache," answers Vince.

"_You _get headaches? I thought you didn't have to deal with stuff like that."

"Well, I've got one, so be quiet."

"Okay, but you've gotta admit that's an impossibility on my part-"

"Jeezus," Vincent gets up out of his seat, "just _shut_ up!"

He storms off. Son rolls into an upright position, "What's his problem?"

"How should I know?" I rub my temples and search for something to distract Son, "Sarah's watching you."

Son glances absentmindedly over his shoulder, not even questioning how I knew, "Eh, Sarah's old news."

"You're joking. What about that other girl, Lyndsay?"

He cringes, "Ugh, she's dating the other Matt."  
"Your life is so hard."

"Jaime's pretty cute though, I asked her out. She said she's thinking about it, so I asked Marta out too just in case she says no."

"That doesn't sound like a recipe for disaster at all. Why don't you just date one of the throng of girls that follows you around?"

He perks up, "I have a throng of girls that follows me around?"

"Yes! They give me dirty looks all the time, you seriously haven't noticed them?"

"Hey, I have a busy life, okay?"

"Yeah, busy asking out girls who are already taken. Just pick a dumb,_ single_ girl already so I don't have to keep hearing about your pitiful love life."

"Hey, don't snap at me just because you're embarrassed Vince likes-" he throws his hands up instantly in self-defense.

"Forget you, Son," I lower my fist.

I ignore the looks from his admirers as I stalk down the hall. My telepathy has gotten out of control since the night Vincent asked to kiss me. My head buzzes with static, as if a swarm of bees hover around my head, and my brain is connected up to a lost radio. Every occupied room I walk past gives me an immediate headache. The farther away from people I get the less it hurts, and the roof has become more of an ideal escape. But Vincent's up there.

I kick icy leaves out of my path, hands delved into my coat pockets, as I trek into the edge of the forest. My breath gathers in white clouds that disappear quickly, and I turn my internal heat up just a little to compensate for the shoddy coat. A flock of ground birds rustles and flutters away, reluctant and unhappy. I get a whiff of cheap tobacco smoke and the standard school shampoo and give an irritated sigh.

_You're going to kill yourself with those. _I think loud enough for him to hear as I turn to go.

_I figured you'd head up to the roof, _Vincent replies as I finally locate his heartbeat a few yards to my left. So he's avoiding me too. _How's the headache?_

_ Murderous, yours?_

_ Sure. _

_I'll be on the roof then. _

_Whatever._

I slump into a barstool and cradle my throbbing head in my arms. The window to the roof was frozen shut. A mug of hot cocoa is placed in front of me, but when I look up the responsible party has left the room. I lean in and sniff the handle. Jean. The pot is cooling on the stove and two mugs are missing from their hooks. I take a sip.

"Tastes better with whiskey," Logan taps me on the head as he walks over to the coffeemaker. "Jean says something's bugging you."

I take a long gulp, enjoying the proxy burn now that he's mentioned whiskey. With a gasp I lower it and feel my headache relax, "What makes people _like_ each other?"

"It ain't a complicated thing," he says plainly.

"But it makes everything else so. Why can't people just be normal and friendly? Why do they have to go and _make_ things complicated?"

"Please tell me this isn't about a boy."

"I hate boys."

"Oh no," he groans and takes a seat rubbing a hand over his face, "Both your friends are boys, I see you guys cackling all the time and punching each other."

"See? That's what I mean, that's enjoyable they're just fun to be with."

"If you just want people to have fun with, that's one thing. Having a person who is real with you is another. Ace," he sighs and searches for the words, "you've got to make the best of right now. You can't keep everyone out. Now I'm not saying you should date the first bozo who hits on you, but don't cut yourself off from someone who cares about you. That's the only complicated thing about being liked, whether they deserve to be liked back."

"Well, I'm not going to start _liking _anyone. I just want friends."

"Let's cut to the chase, it's one of those boys giving you a hard time, so which one is it?" his face fades to guilt, "Or is it both of 'em?"

I try to imagine Son being interested in me and start laughing. Some of the color returns to Logan's face. "It better not be the preppy kid."

"No way," I answer catching my breath.

"Right, him. So what's the other one? Vinny?"

"Vincent," I catch a segment of a thought when I speak the name. Logan doesn't like him. "Lay off, we're not talking about them."

"He just being cute or do I need to step in?"

"No, just stay away from both of them…Actually, you can scare the crap out of Son once in awhile, but leave Vince alone."

* * *

Rain patters dully against the glass. Only a moment ago it was a blinding sleet that sent Vincent back into the house, his hoodie simultaneously soggy and half frozen. He stands in a sitting room now in a dry T-shirt, gazing in boredom at the sodden landscape, doing his best to pretend the drowned cigarette smell is coming from someone else.

"Hey, at least she hasn't stopped talking to you. That means you've still got a chance."

Vincent looks away from the window, "Yeah?"

"Yeah! If she's not avoiding you, that's a good sign. Just, you know, don't ask her again right away. That doesn't end too well."

"No kidding. Naw man, she is avoiding me," replies Vince, "Hey, do you know what it is about thunderstorms that gets to her?  
"Thunderstorms?" Son shrugs, "don't know anything about that, they scare her or something?"

"No, I think she likes them. She just gets this…attitude. I don't know maybe it's the electricity in the air or something."

"Electricity in the air, what? You have a _real_ crush don't you? Oh man!" Son grins at the chance to tease somebody, "Vinny, is this true love?"

"Shut up, man, you're useless."

"Hey, ask her to the Winter Dance, she can't say no to that."

"Oh, geez, no more dances! It went too frickin' well the first time, let's do it again! Yes, she can say no, she says it to you all the time!"

"Well, you're not me, and she always comes anyway doesn't she?"

"Yeah…why is that?"

"The dancing," he answers confidently, "…or the food, one of those, she eats a lot."

"Well that doesn't help me I don't dance. _You _can do that with her, but I can't."

"She eats like a full-grown man, I swear. You don't need to know how to dance just…take her out there! She does it all herself she gets a high from it!"

"Yeah, well," Vincent scratches his knee, "I don't _do _parties and stuff., I mean, I get what you're saying, you and Ace like it, but I'm not the same kind of person. I usually just sit in the corner with a Coke and wait it out."

"That's weak, bro. Didn't you have fun at the Thanksgiving dance?"

"Quit trying to talk street. Sure I had fun I thought I was going to kiss a fantastic girl at the end. No, you know what, that whole night was miserable, I mean, between the whipped cream and the- and the getting blown off, no that was a- a crappy night. I don't wanna ask her again, no more dances."

"So, what," Son's phone blips and he picks it up, "you're just going to, get over her?""

"I- yeah?"

"That doesn't sound very confident."

"Well than what?" Vincent demands, turning on him, "I can't win her over, Matt!"

"Yeah you can."

"Yeah? How?"

Son shrugs and types away on his keypad.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Vincent says and looks back out into the weather, putting his fingers to his lips. Realizing there is no cigarette to meet them he scowls.

* * *

"So, show me how you do that again?"

She smiles with old pride and holds the ID card out in her floury hand. Suddenly there is no ID at all, but a slick ace of spades instead. I smirk at her, "Neat. Is it with light or telepathy?"

She nods and taps her left temple. _You make ze other person belief it iz wat you want dem to see. _

I nod, "Clever. What about showing them something _they_ want to see?"

She shrugs and hands the ID back, _I can manipulate someone's perception, I cannah read zeir mind. If I could it would be usefel. _

"Probably," I sign a lopsided goodbye and she nods in approval, "I'll let you get back to your work."

She gives me a wink that says "Go find some trouble" and resumes folding the dough. I leave the heat of the kitchen, skidding in a bit of dishwater on my way out, and step into the dreary alley behind the restaurant. I flip my school ID over and over in my hands, not watching where I'm going, but combining the strengths of my telepathy and ultra-sensory abilities to keep me from running into anything. I squint at the card, ignoring my raging headache.

So far this has proved a fruitful trip. Before meeting the cook I discovered several other obliging mutants. There was a young photographer who could teleport, a set of elderly telepathic twins, and a single mother who could feel emotions through touch.

The photographer was more than happy to show me his talent, though he complained that some "jumps" as he called them mess with the memory of his camera and tend to delete some of his work. His photographs help him visualize locations he intends to jump to. He showed me ones he kept in his wallet of important places; his apartment, a diner, his girlfriend's house. He joked about how much he saved in travel expenses and car maintenance. To show off, he stood back from me and told me to pick a location in our view. We were at a rest stop and I told him to jump to the phone booth on the other side of the parking lot. In less than a second he was transported from the space in front of me to the specified location, and then instantly back.

The empathic mother I met wasn't as compliant. She was a frail woman with long gloves much like Rogue's. They were worn and linty, and she sat in the corner of the bus hugging herself. She talked little about her ability and mostly about her young son who was in daycare. She never once mentioned the father. From the random thoughts and emotions I picked up off her, her particular mutation left a deep wound when he eventually left her. Only after demonstrating my invisibility, could I get her to remove her glove and shake my hand.

"You're excited," she said, "excited to be learning…but you're running away from something that worries you."

I pulled my hand away quickly. She shrugged and put her glove back on, a slight flush coming to her cheeks, "I told you. It's no gift."

"Is it," I tried covering my indiscretion, "is it the longer you make contact the deeper you go into their emotions?"

She nodded eagerly, "Yes, how did you know?"

"I just, I just figured."

"It would be nice to be invisible."

I rub my temples and pray the bus empties soon.

The gravel crunches roughly under my feet as I land heavily, "Ha!"

Again, I land heavily on my feet in front of the mudroom door. I listen for people inside the room, then look up at the second story. Better idea.

I lose my balance this time and fall into the bed laughing. The last bus stop is ten miles from here, so I "jumped" the rest of the way. I sink to the floor with a light sigh. That was a blast.

It's the last day of winter break, right before spring classes start which means Son should already be here. I change and march downstairs to the cafeteria where dinner is in full swing. Storm notices me from across the room and raises one stern eyebrow. _Cutting it a little close aren't we?_

At our table, Vincent and Son are in discussion. Vince is mellow and moody as usual, while Son is animated and lively.

"Hey!" he throws his arms wide in greeting, "where've you been?" He hugs me briefly before sitting back down again, "How was your trip?"

"Cool. Went a few places, saw a few things."

"Yeah?"

"Yup. Vin," I observe him carefully, "how was the school trip?"

"Actually not that bad," he concedes, "we went to the Smithsonian."

"Seriously?" asks Son disapprovingly, "They make you go on field trips over holiday break?"

"No, man, we did other things, it's just the Smithsonian was the coolest."

"What'd you like about it the best?" I ask.

Son's boredom with the topic disconcerts him. "Nah, nothing."

"No c'mon," I wave dismissively at Son, "forget him, I wanna know."

He grins quietly, "Well, they've gotta whole wing on mechanics and engineering, you know, robotics and stuff. I thought that was kinda cool."

"Uh-oh, Vinny's gonna build a Transformer," mocks Son.

Vincent punches him at that point, and I in spirit, "Shut the hell up, man. What'd _you _do over break that you're so proud of?"

Son just smiles quietly to himself. It takes a minute before the both of us hear his internal monologue rather clearly.

"Oh, god!" I groan.

Vincent raises his hand for a hi-five, "Way to go, man. Where was it and what'd she look like?"

"Ew! Don't freaking encourage him!"

"On a yacht," Son replies as though trying to recall the specific details, "and she's blonde, buxom, and-"

"Quit talking!" I've already heard the entire thought in his head, "Seriously, just stop."

"What's buxom mean?" Vincent asks. Son pantomimes a curvaceous female figure with his hands and they both giggle rakishly as though they've just discovered something new.

"Fine then, what's her name?" I dare, leaning back. The giggling stops. "How old was she?"

Still drawing a blank, "Well…she was in high school…so, not, like, illegal, or anything."

"Oh, oh hey!" Vincent interrupts, "Hey, tell her about the thing!"

"What thi- Oh right! Okay," he leans forward, "so there's this ni-"

"No, man, not out loud, somebody'll hear you," Vince gestures to me, "here, I'll tell you."

"No way," whines Son, "you guys always leave me out when you do that, c'mon, just let me tell her."

_It's cool, I've figured out how to include you_, I "say" to Son. He blinks, "What the heck just happened?"

Vincent looks between us, "What're you talking about, what'd you do?"

_Think what you want to tell me, Son, _I say to him again,_Vin and I will hear it._

_Yeah, but so will the Professor. _

_I've got that covered, _I extend the thought to Vincent as well, _right now the professor can't hear anything either of you think even if he tried._

Son crooks an eyebrow skeptically, but Vince nods his head, _You just pick that up?_

_Yeah, I can talk to anybody and other telepaths won't hear it, it's awesome!_

_Sweet. Alright, so here's the plan, _Vincent rests both elbows on the table, _Son found a nightclub in the city that lets you in if you're eighteen-_

_Hang on, _I repeat what Vincent just said to Son who blinks again.

_Man, that feels weird,_ Son thinks, _Yeah it's a club called The AMP and I figured I'm turning eighteen in, like a month, so I'm going and you two need to come._

_Yeah, one problem with that, _says Vince.

_You're not eighteen? _I answer.

_Neither are you. _

_You don't know how old I am, _I smirk.

_What are you guys saying? _Son asks.

_Well, whatever, _and a dark look steals over Vincent's gaze for a moment before disappearing again, _No, I mean we don't have ID's that _say _we're eighteen. That's all we really need._

_Dude, quit leaving me out, _Son insists,_ I wanna know what's going on!_

I sigh at him, _We're discussing how to get ID's._

_ID's? Oooh, I keep forgetting how young you guys are._

_I'm seventeen, jackass, _Vince scowls, _Not even a full year younger than you._

_He can't hear you, Vince. _I take out my student ID.

_Hey, Sonus, hey, I'm talkin' at you! _Vincent shouts, _you look like a Ken doll!_

_Are you guys even still talking?_ Son asks annoyed.

_No, he's just making fun of you now, _I tell him as I try to focus on the card. There's a curse as Vince gets punched in the arm. I slide the card across the table towards them. "Hey monkeys, cut it out. What does that look like to you?"

"An ID?" is the snide response.

"What _kind _of ID, dipstick?"

With a begrudging sigh Vince looks closer at the card, squints, and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. I bite my lip and focus a little harder.

"Where the heck'd you get that?" he asks, astonished. Son reaches over and snatches it from him.

"It's a school ID, I've got one too," he swats the side of Vin's head with it.

"That could get you into a bar!" Vincent chokes.

_Or a nightclub,_ I say to both of them, _Matt, look at it again._

_Wait, but, how'd you do that? _Vince asks earnestly as Son gives the piece of plastic another glance.

_I met an illusionist on my trip._

"DAY-UM!" Son hollers. The table trembles, I wince, and every mind in the room is attentive on us.

"Sorry," he waves his hand high, "I had sex over break."

"MATT!"

"So you're gonna drive us," Vince states matter-of-factly, "that's gonna be long, bro, you wouldn't rather take a bus or something?"

"Between all the stopping and weird routes the bus actually takes longer," I say as I try to block out the humiliating thoughts mingling about the room, "Seriously, Matt, _must _you?"

He flips the card back to me, "It's _Son_, sweetheart."

"_What _did you just call me?"

Vincent shrinks back as Son chews on his lip searching for a good answer. "Um, you're cute?"

He's hopeless. I shake my head and let it slide, "I say we go to the movies on your birthday. It's during spring break right?"

"Well yeah we could do that too, I guess."

"Alright, we'll go to the movies. Find something that's coming out then."

Son just gives me a puzzled look, but Vincent's got it down. "Awesome. So, do we want to see _21 _or _10,000 BC_?"


End file.
